THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


THE 


MILITARY  HEROES 


REVOLUTION: 


WITH    A  NAHRATIVK  OF  THE 


WAR  OF  INDEPENDENCE. 


BY  CHARLES  J.  (PETERSON. 


PHILADELPHIA: 
WILLIAM   A.  LEARY, 

No.  158  N.  SECOND  STREET. 

1848. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1S43,  by 

JAMES     L.    GIHON, 
in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  Eastern  District  of  Pennsylvania. 


JOHN  H.  GIHON,  PRINTER, 

Comer  of  Sixth  and  Chetnat  StmXv 


DAVID  W.  GIHON,  BINDER, 
No.  98  Chetnut  Street. 


0 


TO    THE 


PEOPLE    OF    THE    UNITED    STATES, 


THIS    WORK 


IS    RESPECTFULLY    DEDICATED 


BY   THE   AUTHOR. 


3654  JUS 


PREFACE. 


THE  following  work  has  long  been  a  favorite  scheme  of  the 
author.  When  the  idea  of  it  first  occurred  to  him,  there  was 
scarcely  any  book  of  a  similar  character.  Some  of  the  biog- 
raphies were  composed  five  or  six  years  ago,  and  were  given 
to  the  public  as  fugitive  contributions ;  others  are  of  a  later 
date ;  but  nearly  all  were  ready  for  the  press  a  twelve-month 
since.  Just  as  they  arrived  at  this  point,  however,  the  an- 
nouncement of  a  publication  somewhat  resembling  this,  in- 
duced the  abandonment  of  the  enterprise,  with  the  natural 
reflection,  that  in  America  at  least,  the  delay  recommended 
by  Horace  was  not  always  advisable.  Subsequently,  how- 


6  PREFACE. 

ever,  the  writer  was  persuaded  to  prosecute  his  undertaking, 
and  the  result,  with  but  little  alteration,  is  before  the  reader  ! 

It  was  the  original  intention  to  have  given,  in  one  volume, 
a  complete  gallery  of  the  military  heroes  of  the  United  States, 
those  of  the  war  of  1812,  as  well  as  those  of  the  war  of  Inde- 
pendence. The  war  with  Mexico,  however,  frustrated  this 
design,  it  being  found  that  the  material  would  swell  to  two 
volumes.  The  "  Heroes  of  the  War  of  1812,"  and  the  "  He- 
roes of  the  War  with  Mexico,"  will  together  complete  a  se- 
cond volume,  which  is  now  passing  through  the  press. 

The  design  of  this  work  is  to  furnish  brief,  analytical  por- 
traits of  those  military  leaders  who,  either  from  superior  abi- 
lity, or  superior  good  fortune,  have  played  the  most  promi- 
nent parts  in  the  wars  of  the  United  States.  Each  biography 
is  made  the  frame,  as  it  were,  for  a  battle  picture,  the  combat 
chosen  being  that  in  which  the  hero  of  the  memoir  principally 
distinguished  himself.  This  has  always  appeared  to  the  author 
the  only  true  way  to  give  a  military  portrait.  What  would  a 
sketch  of  Hannibal  be,  without  Cannse  ;  or  one  of  Bruce  with- 
out Bannockburn  ?  The  battle  in  which  a  great  hero  dis- 
tinguishes himself,  becomes  a  part  of  his  biography.  His 
fame,  and  sometimes  even  his  character  cannot  be  understood 
without  it.  The  author  has  desired,  accordingly,  to  write  a 
book  which  should  not  only  tell  when  Warren  was  born, 
where  Putnam  spent  his  youth,  or  who  were  the  ancestors  ot 
Greene  and  Wayne,  but  to  enshrine  as  far  as  his  feeble  pen 
has  power,  the  memory  of  those  immortal  heroes  with  Lex- 
ington, Bunker  Hill,  Eutaw  and  Stony  Point. 

In  executing  this  plan,  it  became  necessary  to  omit  many 


PREFACE.  7 

whose  rank  wo  aid  seem  to  claim  admission,  and  to  introduce 
others  whose  subordinate  positions  have  caused  them  hereto- 
fore to  be  overlooked.  Thus  the  author  has  given  sketches  of 
Colonel  Henry  Lee,  of  Captain  Kirkwood,  of  Ethan  Allen,  and 
of  others ;  but  none  of  several  Major-Generals.  He  hesitated 
for  some  time,  whether  Howard  and  Pickens  ought  not  to  be 
included  with  Williams  and  Sumpter ;  whether  the  services 
of  Captain  Washington  in  the  cavalry,  and  those  of  Clarke  on 
the  western  frontier,  did  not  entitle  them  to  a  place.  He  has 
admitted,  perhaps,  more  foreigners  than  some  may  think  ne- 
cessary ;  but  it  must  be  recollected  that  the  army  wras  indebted 
for  most  of  its  discipline  and  military  science  to  these  men. 
He  has  also  included  Hamilton  and  Burr;  but  they  have 
never  heretofore  been  assigned  their  due  prominence ;  and 
moreover  their  biographies  allowed  the  author  to  bring  the 
history  of  the  nation  down  to  the  present  century,  an  import- 
ant addition  to  the  completeness  of  his  work  as  a  whole. 

The  author  does  not  pretend  to  claim  exemption  from  er- 
rors— no  annalist  can,  least  of  all  an  annalist  of  the  American 
revolution  !  Many  of  the  details  of  that  period  are  involved 
in  inextricable  confusion.  Whether  Mercer  suggested  the 
march  on  Princeton ;  whether  Putnam  brought  on  the  battle 
of  Bunker  Hill ;  whether  Montgomery  harangued  his  men  be- 
fore the  second  barrier  of  Quebec ;  whether  Arnold  was  pre- 
sent at  Stillwater ;  whether  the  legend  of  Horse-Neck  is  true  ; 
wrhether  the  battle  of  the  Assunpink,  so  unaccountably  neglect- 
ed by  most  writers,  was  a  mere  skirmish  or  a  desperate  conflict ; 
whether  any  of  the  British,  at  Brandywine,  crossed  the  river 
lower  than  Jeffries'  Ford ;  whether  the  name  of  Wood  Creek. 


8  PREFACE. 

in  1777,  was  extended  to  the  arm  of  the  lake  between  Skeens- 
boro'  and  Ticonderoga ;  whether  the  surprise  at  Trenton  ori- 
ginated with  Washington ;  whether  Burr  intended  to  dismem- 
ber the  Union — these,  and  other  mooted  points,  perplex  the 
historical  student,  and  will,  perhaps,  always,  continue  to  per- 
plex him.  The  author  has  contented  himself  merely  with 
stating  his  opinions,  discussion  being  foreign  to  the  character 
of  this  work.  As  a  general  rule,  however,  he  has  applied  to 
the  decision  of  all  such  questions,  the  logical  maxim  of  the 
law,  that,  where  a  fact  is  distinctly  stated  by  a  credible  eye- 
witness, circumstantial  testimony  against  it  is  of  little  value- 
Many  anecdotes  are  used  in  this  narrative  which  have 
never  been  in  print.  The  one  relating  to  Washington's  ad- 
dress at  Trenton — "  Now  or  never,  this  is  our  last  chance"' 
— is  of  this  description.  It  came  from  the  lips  of  a  private 
soldier,  who  always  had  told  it  in  the  same  way,  and  whose 
veracity  was  unimpeachable ;  he  was  accustomed  to  say  that 
Washington  spoke  under  evident  agitation,  and  that  only  him- 
self, and  a  few  others  close  at  hand,  heard  the  words.  The 
dramatic  character  of  the  address  may  induce  some  to  discre- 
dit it ;  but  when  the  attending  circumstances  are  considered, 
this  becomes  a  proof  of  its  authenticity.  Far  be  it  from  the 
author  to  invade  history  with  fiction  !  Nothing  can  be  more 
reprehensible  than  the  practice,  which  has  too  much  prevailed, 
of  inventing  anecdotes  in  relation  to  historical  characters  and 
passing  them  off  as  realities.  Forgers  in  literature  should  be 
as  infamous  as  other  forgers.  But  neither  can  we  excuse 
those  who  studiously  banish  every  thing  picturesque  from  their 
pages,  as  if  history  grew  correct  in  proportion  as  it  became 


PREFACE.  9 

stupid.  Rather  should  we  preserve  those  stirring  anecdotes, 
which  illustrate  a  crisis,  and  which,  to  use  the  metaphor  of 
Coleridge,  tell  a  story  "  by  flashes  of  lightning." 

The  narrative  of  the  war  is  intended  not  so  much  for  a 
perfect  history,  as  for  a  short,  but  as  far  as  possible,  compre- 
hensive review  of  the  contest.  It  forms,  it  is  believed,  a  pro- 
per introduction  for  a  work  intended,  like  this,  for  the  people. 
The  style,  in  consequence,  is  different  from  that  which  a  more 
pretending  narrative  should  exhibit. 

Of  the  various  authorities  the  author  has  consulted,  he  has 
found  "  Sparks'  American  Biographies,"  the  most  generally 
correct ;  and  he  desires  to  acknowledge,  in  this  public  man- 
ner, the  assistance  he  has  derived  from  that  series.  He  would 
express  his  obligations  in  other  quarters  also,  if  the  list  would 
not  swell  this  preface  to  an  unwarrantable  length. 


CONTENTS. 


THE  WAR  OF  INDEPENDENCE. 

PRELIMINARY  CHAPTER, 

BOOK  I, 

BOOK  II, 

BOOK  III,      - 

BOOK  IV, 

BOOK  V,  * 


19 

25 

45 

73 

113 

141 


THE  HEROES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 

GEORGE  WASHINGTON,  • 

JOSEPH  WARREN,          ... 
ISRAEL  PUTNAM,  - 

RICHARD  MONTGOMERY, 

LORD  STIRLING,  .  .  - 

-  ETHAN  ALLEN,  ... 

WILLIAM  MOCLTRIE, 


173 
207 
219 
235 
243 
259 
•261 


11 


12  CONTENTS. 

HUSH  MERCER,  .....            269 

ARTHUR  ST.  CLAIH,  ....                     277 

PHILIP  SCHUTLBR,  '  <4               -                 -                -                -            285 

JOBS  STARK,  -              .--                -                -                 -                     295 

^^•HoRATio  GATES,  -                •  /                              -                 -             309 

BENEDICT  ARNOLD,  -                                                                                           323 

JAMES  CLINTON,  .                 -                 .                 -                 -             343 

JOHN  SULLIVAN,  -             •  %  •  l               .                  -                 -                      347 

HENRY  KNOX,  ....                              355 

BARON  STEUBEIT,  -                -               .  -                -                -                     359 

CHARLES  LEE,  ....                              365 

BENJAMIN  LINCOLN,  .                -                -                                       385 

ANTHONY  WAYNE,  -                 -                _                 -                 -391 

Couirr  PULASKI,  -                 ....                     403 

ROHERT   KlRKWOOD,  -                                                                                                                        407 

BAROIT  DB  KALB,  -                                                                                               409 

—  MARQUIS  DE  LAFATETTE,    -  413 

NATHAXAEL  GREENE,  -                                                                         421 

OTHO  H.  WILLIAMS,  .....            443 

HAXCIS  MARION,  .....                    445 

THOMAS  SUMPTER,  .....            453 

HENRY  LEE,  .....                     457 

I.'AMKL   MORGAN.  .                   .                   .                   .                   .461 

THADDEUS  KOSCIUSZKO,  -                                                                         465 

--  ALEXANDER  HAMILTOK,         .....  469 

AARON  BURR,  .-                                                                                          477 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


ENGRAVINGS  ON  STEEL. 

Portrait  of  Washington,         .........         Frontispiece. 

Battle  of  Germantowri,  ...._-.--  Page  83 

Battle  of  Guilford  Court  House,              135 

Battle  of  Eutaw  Springs, 139 

Washington  at  the  Battle  of  Princeton, 180 

Battle  of  the  Assunpink,  at  Trenton,         ........  193 

Battle  of  Bunker  Hill  and  Death  of  Warren,                 217 

Portrait  of  Major-General  Arthur  St.Clair,                277 

Saratoga  Battle  Ground,  -         -         -         -         -         -         -         -         -         -317 

Portrait  of  Major-General  Benedict  Arnold,     -------  323 

Fort  Putnam,  at  West  Point,      ----------  339 

Portrait  of  Baron  Steuben,                 -...-.---  359 

Battle  Ground  at  Monmouth,                 -         -         -         -         -                  -         -         •  379 

Pulaski  Monument  at  Savannah,  Ga.,                .....--  406 

Portrait  of  the  Marquis  La  Fayette,  (at  the  age  of  twenty  two  years,)  413 

Portrait  of  Major-General  Otho  H.  Williams,              443 

Portrait  of  Brigadier-Genera)  Thomas  Surnpter,                .....  455 

Portrait  of  Brigadier-General  Daniel  Morgan,             ...          ...  461 

B  13 


14  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

ENGRAVINGS  ON  WOOD. 

Residence  of  General  Wayne,  Chester  Co.,  Pa.,  .....  Page  5 

Washington's  Head-Quarters  at  Brandywine,  -          ......       9 

Washington's  Head-Quarters  at  Valley  Forge,  -         -         -         -         -         -         11 

Battle  Ground  at  Stillwater,         --._.----  13 

Ornamental  Title  Page, "  The  War  of  Independence,"         -         -         -         -         -         17 

Head  Piece, 19 

Tail  Piece,  -        -          24 

Americans  Harassing  the  British  on  their  Retreat  from  Concord,  -         -         -25 

Ornamental  Letter — Cap  and  Sword,  -         -         -         -         -         -         -         25 

Portrait  of  Patrick  Henry,  -         -         -         -         -         -         -         -         -         -29 

Reception  of  the  News  of  the  Repeal  of  the  Stamp  Act,     ...          -         -         3'2 

Fanueil  Hall,  Boston,  -.-      -         -         -         - 34 

Destruction  of  the  Tea  in  Boston  Harbor,  -•-         -         -         -         -         -         37 

Carpenters'  Hall,  Philadelphia,  -         -         ••         -         -         -         -         -40 

Battle  of  Lexington,  -----------43 

The  Minute  Man  of  the  Revolution,  •'"       ••"•»."-         -         -         -         -     45 

Ornamental  Letter — Table  and  Sword,  .......         45 

Colonel  Ethan  Allen  Summoning  the  Commander  of  Fort  Ticonderoga  to  Surrender,  47 
Siege  of  Boston,  .........         -.53 

Quebec,  .............     55 

Portrait  of  Admiral  Sir  Peter  Parker,         - 58 

Independence  Hall,  _........         -.60 

Committee  Presenting  the  Declaration  of  Independence  to  Congress,  -         -         61 

Portrait  of  Admiral  Lord  Howe, 65 

Retreat  of  the  Americans  through  New  Jersey,  ......         68 

Battle  of  Trenton, 70 

Bunker  Hill  Monument,  ..........         72 

Head  Piece — Eagle  and  Flag. 73 

Ornamental  Letter,  ..........73 

Portrait  of  Lord  Cornwallis,  .--......-76 

Birmingham  Meeting-House,  .-..-....80 

Battle  of  Red  Bank, •        .        »/     .     84 

Portrait  of  General  Burgoyne,  .........87 

Burgoyne's  Encampment  on  the  Banks  of  the  Hudson,  -         -         -         -         -     91 

Burgoyne's  Retreat  to  Saratoga,  ........95 

Encampment  at  Valley  Forge,  ......  .-98 

Signing  the  Treaty  of  Alliance  at  Paris,  -         -         -         -         -«.**.•         101 

Portrait  of  Sir  Henry  Clinton,  .........     105 

Ruins  of  Wyoming,  ...          --_.'.          .          .          108 

Tail  Piece — Implements  of  War,         ........  112 

Portrait  of  Major-General  Nathanael  Greene,  - 113 

Ornamental  Letter,  .         -         .  .         -         .         .         -         -113 

Savannah  in  1778,  -         -         -         .         .         -         *-,.,-         -         118 

Tarleton's  Quarters,  ...........      122 

Battle  of  the  Cowpens,          --         ........131 

Capture  of  the  General  Monk  by  the  Hyder  Ally,  .....     141 

Ornamental  Letter,     .  ..........          141 

Portrait  of  Commodore  John  Paul  Jones,  ^  143 

Capture  of  Major  Andre,         -         -         -         -         -         -         -         -         -         -          148 

Continental  Money,  ..........     152 

Portrait  of  Robert  Morris,       ........          --154 


ILLUSTRATIONS.  15 

Action  off  Cape  Henry,               -  '  •    .         -         -     .   ;         -         -         -         -       Page  1  f>6 

Vorktown,  in  1782,     ------         .'        ...        .*  •      .    •    .  jyj 

Capture  of  Corn  wallis,       -         -         -         -         --         -         -          ..•_  ]O4 

Tail  Piece — Cannon  and  Flag,  -         -         -         -         -         -         -         -         -170 

Ornamental  Title  Page — "  Heroes  of  the  Revolution,"      .....  j7j 

Mount  Vernon,  -         -         -         -         -         -         -          -         -         -         -173 

Ornamental  Letter — Washington,    .----..-_  173 

Washington's  Interview  with  the  Commander  of  the  French  Fort,         -         -         -  176 

Washington's  Head-Quarters  at  Cambridge,       -         -         -         -         -         -         .  181 

Copy  of  a  Gold  Medal  Presented  to  Washington  by  Congress,                  -         -         -  185 

Washington  Crossing  the  Delaware,         .........  j^g 

Washington's  Head-Quarters  at  Morristown,  -         -         -         -         -         -197 

Washington's  Head-Quarters  at  Newburg,      -          ......  202 

Tomb  of  Washington  at  Mount  Vernon,                 ---....  206 

Portrait  of  Major-General  Joseph  Warren,        -                              ....  207 

Ornamental  Letter — Throwing  up  Intrenchments,         ------  207 

Tail  Piece — Cap  and  Sword,              -         -         -         -         -         -         -         --  218 

Portrait  of  Major-General  Israel  Putnam,        -         - 219 

Ornamental  Letter — Putnam  Prepared  for  the  Torture,             -         -         -         -  219 

Ruins  of  Old  Fort  Ticonderoga,  -         -         -         -         -         -         -         -         -221 

Battle  of  Bunker  Hill,              ------.-._  227 

Portrait  of  Major-General  Richard  Montgomery,           --._._  235 

Ornamental  Letter,                   ....                  .....  235 

St.  Johns,  on  the  Sorel,                 _.-._-____  237 

Death  of  Montgomery  at  the  Storming  of  Quebec,               -         -         ...  242 

Head  Piece — Sword,           ---.__..___  243 

Ornamental  Letter — Officer  taking  Observations,        -         -         -         -         -         -  243 

Portrait  of  Major-General  William  Moultrie,        -         -         -         -         -         -         -251 

Ornamental  Letter,             ...........  251 

Portrait  of  Major-General  Lord  Stirling,        --_---_.  259 

Ornamental  Letter — Sentinel,            -..--....  259 

The  Retreat  of  the  Americans  at  Long  Island,             ......  266 

Tail  Piece,              -          ...........  268 

Battle  of  Princeton,             --------__.  269 

Ornamental  Letter,                   ..........  269 

Tomb  of  General  Mercer,  at  Laurel  Hill  Cemetery,  near  Philadelphia,       •     -     '    -  276 

Death  of  General  Wolfe,            ..........  277 

Ornamental  Letter,               -----.....-  277 

Wolfe's  Army  Ascending  the  Heights  of  Abraham,           .....  284 

Portrait  of  Major-General  Philip  Schuyler, -  285 

Ornamental  Letter — Sentinel,         ......          ...  285 

Massacre  at  Fort  Henry  in  1757,                  ........  290 

Portrait  of  Major-General  John  Stark,      ........  295 

Ornamental  Letter — Sentinel,                        -         - -  295 

General  Abercrombie's  Army  Crossing  Lake  George,       -         ....  299 

Portrait  of  John  Langdon,          -         -         -         -         .         .         -         .         .         -301 

Battle  of  Bennington,      -------_.-.  304 

Tail  Piece — Sword,             ...........  3(13 

Portrait  of  Major-General  Horatio  Gates,          --...--  309 

Ornamental  Letter — Eagle  and  Flag,                   309 

Surrender  of  Burgoyne,           -         -         -         -         -         -         .         .         -         .  316 

Medal  Presented  by  Congress  to  General  Gates,           -         -         -         -         -         -  318 

Shippen's  House,  Philadelphia,  in  which  General  Arnold  was  Married,     -         -  323 
Ornamental  Letter,             -         -         .         .         .         .'».                   .         -323 


16  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

Montreal — Place  d'Arras, Page  32  S 

Washington's  Head-Quarters  at  Tappan, 340 

General  James  Clinton's  Escape  from  Fort  Clinton,     ------  343 

Ornamental  Letter — Tomahawk,      ------                  -         -  343 

Portrait  of  Major-General  John  Sullivan,  and  Ornamental  Letter,            ...  347 

Portrait  of  Major-General  Henry  Knox,  and  Ornamental  Letter,          -         -         -  355 

Tail  Piece — Artillery, 358 

Head  Piece — Prussian  Soldiers,         ___-..--.  359 

Ornamental  Letter,              ....-------  359 

Baron  Steuben  Drilling  the  American  Army,      -  361 

Tail  Piece,                  364 

Portrait  of  Major-General  Charles  Lee,            .•'.*-         -          -'-         *    ' .  "  •  365 

Ornamental  Letter,             -----------  365 

Tail  Piece, -        -  .384 

Portrait  of  Major-General  Benjamin  Lincoln,        --._---  385 

Ornamental  Letter,                   _--.                  -----  385 

Portrait  of  Major-General  Anthony  Wayne,          ----.--  391 

Ornamental  Letter,         _..__------  391 

Storming  of  Stony  Point,     _----------  396 

General  Wayne  Attempting  to  Quell  the  Mutiny  of  the  Troops.  398 

General  Wayne's  Defeat  of  the  Indians  on  the  Miami,           -                                       -  400 

Tail  Piece, .-402 

Head  Piece— Pulaski  and  Polish  Soldiers,            ----.--  403 

Ornamental  Letter,           -         -         -         -         -         -         -         • '.  ,li*ivt              -  403 

Death  of  Count  Pulaski,      - -     "' K  ,    -         -         -  406 

Portrait  of  Major-General  the  Baron  de  Kalb,     -         -         ...„-.         .  407 

Ornamental  Letter,              -                             ^4  .,-.•..   -'   *•  •     -         -         -         -  407 

The  Battle  of  Camden,  and  Death  of  the  Baron  de  Kalb,        ;  W       -         -         -  410 

Head  Piece,  and  Ornamental  Letter,             -               ...    ^ '-'••--         -         -  411 

Yorktown  Battle-Ground,  and  Ornamental  Letter,     -         -         -         -         -         -  413 

Moore's  House,  Yorktown,  in  which  Cornwallis  Signed  the  Articles  of  Capitulation,  417 

Tomb  of  General  La  Fayette,               .........  420 

General  Greene's  Entrance  into  Charleston,     -         -         -         -         -         -         -  421 

Ornamental  Letter — The  Dead  Soldier,       -         -         -         -         -         -         -         -421 

The  Landlady  Offering  her  Money  to  General  Greene,      -  431 

Portrait  of  Brigadier-General  Francis  Marion,      .-..---  445 

Ornamental  Letter — General  Marion  Inviting  the  British  Officer  to  Dinner,         -  445 

Sampler's  Assault  on  the  British  at  Rocky  Mount,         ..--.-  455 

Ornamental  Letter,       --------          ...  455 

Portrait  of  Colonel  Henry  Lee,             ---------  457 

Ornamental  Letter — Lee's  Legion,           --------  457 

Tail  Piece,                  -         -  460 

Morgan  at  the  Battle  of  Stillwater,             -------  461 

Ornamental  Letter,  -         -         -         -         -         -         -         -         -         -         -461 

Portrait  of  Brigadier-General  Thaddeus  Koskiuszko,        -         -         -       ' *        -  465 

Ornamental  Letter,             _....-.----  465 

Monument  to  the  Memory  of  Koskiuszko  at  West  Point,            -         -         -         -  468 

Portrait  of  General  Alexander  Hamilton,              -         -         -         *      .*'•  ~    -         -  469 
Ornamental  Letter,         .-..--                   ...-469 

Tail  Piece,                                                                     -      ..^  .^  .      *.  .'i--^1     -         -  47f 

Portrait  of  Colonel  Aaron  Burr,        -         -         -         .   .<•   *    »    -       •-*'.•  ;^W  "    -.  477 

Ornamental  Letter,               -_.-.._..--  477 

Tail  Piece,               -         -         -         - :.»,".  487 


PRELIMINARY  CHAPTER, 


I  HE  American  Revolution,  in  whatever  aspect 
,  viewed,  forms  an  epoch  in  history.  That  a  com- 
paratively weak  confederacy  should  undertake  a 
war  unassisted,  against  a  power  which  had  just  humbled  the  proud- 
est throne  in  Europe,  appears  at  first  sight  little  short  of  madness. 
Never,  perhaps,  did  England  enjoy  a  more  formidable  position  than 
at  the  beginning  of  the  dispute  with  her  colonies.  Her  armies  had 
been  victorious  in  the  old  world  and  the  new.  Her  fleets  had 
chased  those  of  every  adversary  from  the  ocean.  She  had  dictated 
peace  to  her  antagonist.  And  while  these  events  had  been  transact- 
ing in  Europe  and  America,  a  commercial  company  had  been  con- 
quering for  her  the  vast  empire  of  the  Indies.  Her  flag  already 
floating  over  Quebec,  Gibraltar  and  Calcutta ;  her  name  heard  with 
terror  by  distant  and  savage  tribes ;  men  began  to  look  forward  to 
the  day  when  the  British  empire,  like  the  sea  which  she  controlled, 
should  circle  the  habitable  globe. 

It  was  at  this,  the  very  height  of  her  career,  that  the  American 
Revolution  occurred.  The  colonies  contained,  at  that  time,  but 
three  millions  of  people,  divided  by  local  prejudices,  by  differences 

19 


80  HISTORY  OF 

of  religious  opinion,  and  by  mutual  jealousies.  In  one  sentiment 
only  they  agreed,  a  determination  to  resist  oppression.  Without 
arms,  money  or  credit,  they  embarked  in  a  contest  from  which 
France  had  just  retired  in  despair.  At  a  very  early  period  of  the 
war,  the  Americans  were  so  completely  overpowered  that  any  other 
people  would  have  abandoned  the  contest  in  despair.  The  battle 
of  Trenton  alone  saved  the  country.  The  genius  and  resolution  of 
Washington,  in  that  eventful  crisis,  interposed  to  arrest  the  torrent 
of  disaster  ;  he  checked  the  flood  and  rolled  it  back  on  the  foe.  For 
eight  years  the  conflict  was  protracted  amid  financial  and  military 
difficulties  almost  incredible.  At  times  the  Americans  were  reduced 
to  such  straits  that  it  was  a  greater  triumph  of  military  chieftainship, 
merely  to  keep  an  army  together,  than  it  would  have  been,  under 
ordinary  circumstances,  to  have  achieved  a  decisive  victory.  Battle 
after  battle  was  lost,  city  upon  city  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  foe, 
domestic  treason  conspired  with  foreign  hirelings  against  the  liberties 
of  the  land  ;  but  the  colonies,  true  to  the  principles  of  their  immortal 
declaration,  resolved  to  perish  rather  than  submit.  They  acted  in 
the  spirit  of  the  patriot  who  swore  to  demolish  every  house  and 
burn  every  blade  of  grass  before  the  invader.  The  Senate  of  Rome, 
when  Hannibal  was  at  the  city  gates,  solemnly  sold  at  auction  the 
land  on  which  he  was  encamped,  the  august  members  of  that  body 
competing,  in  their  private  capacities,  who  should  pay  the  highest 
price  :  so  indomitable  was  the  sentiment  of  ancient  freedom.  Wash- 
ington, not  less  determined,  when  asked  what  he  would  do  if  the 
enemy  drove  him  from  Pennsylvania,  replied, ' "  I  will  retire  to 
Augusta  county,  among  the  mountains  of  Virginia,  or  if  necessary 
beyond  the  Alleghanies,  but  never  yield."  When  such  heroic  reso- 
lutions are  entertained,  victory,  sooner  or  later,  must  ensue ;  and 
thus  America,  insignificant  as  she  seemed,  was  able  to  humble  the 
mistress  of  the  world. 

But  if  we  would  correctly  appreciate  the  American  Revolution, 
we  must  look,  not  to  the  event  itself,  but  to  its  consequences.  The 
war  of  Independence  was  the  first  ever  gained  in  behalf  of  the 
people,  using  that  word  as  contradistinguished  from  a  privileged 
class.  Magna  Charta  was  obtained  for  the  benefit  of  a  few  nobles, 
while  the  majority  of  the  population  continued  slaves  to  the  soil. 
The  boasted  revolution  of  1688,  was  but  a  struggle  between  a  despot 
and  an  oligarchy :  the  commonalty  gaining  as  little  by  the  elevation 
of  William  the  Third,  as  they  lost  by  the  exile  of  James  the  Second. 
It  was  only  the  nobility,  the  gentry,  the  church,  and  the  higher 
classes  of  merchants  to  whom  it  was  of  advantage.  The  govern- 


THE   WAR  OF  INDEPENDENCE.  21 

ment  passed  from  an  irresponsible  monarch  to  a  landed  and  rnonied 
aristocracy :  the  people  obtaining  no  share  in  it,  and  remaining  still 
subjects  arid  not  citizens.  But  the  American  Revolution  established 
the  great  principle  of  political  equality.  It  elevated  the  poorest 
member  of  the  commonwealth  to  an  equal  participation  with  the 
richest  in  the  choice  of  his  rulers ;  and  by  teaching  that  the  State 
must  rely  on  the  virtue  of  its  citizens,  and  not  on  a  military  force 
for  support,  invoked  some  of  the  most  powerful  sentiments  of  human 
nature  in  behalf  of  the  permanency  of  the  republic. 

The  example*  thus  set,  has  influenced  the  whole  European  conti- 
nent. The  knowledge  of  the  freedom  of  institutions  in  America, 
awakening  the  lethargic  mind  of  the  old  world,  has  led  to  a  general 
amelioration  in  the  social  and  political  condition  of  its  millions  of 
inhabitants.  To  the  American  Revolution  may  be  traced,  in  a  great 
measure,  the  revolution  in  France, — an  incalculable  blessing  to  man- 
kind, notwithstanding  its  excesses ;  for  if  that  terrific  outbreak  had 
not  occurred,  the  chains  of  feudalism  would  probably  remain  un- 
broken ;  long  established  customs  would  still  hold  the  minds  of  men 
in  thrall ;  and  Europe,  instead  of  being  in  motion  towards  constitu- 
tional liberty,  would  lie  inert  and  stupified,  careless  or  ignorant  of 
her  inestimable  rights. 

The  hand  of  Providence  may  be  discerned  in  the  settlement,  inde- 
pendence, and  subsequent  prosperity  of  the  United  States.  The 
race  of  men  who  came  to  these  shores  was  of  that  northern  blood 
which  has,  in  all  ages,  asserted  its  superiority  over  every  other  with 
which  it  has  come  in  contact.  Perhaps  there  never  existed  its  equal 
in  the  capacity  for  material  development.  The  very  name  of  North- 
man suggests  the  idea  of  enterprise  and  progress.  In  a  new  country 
the  genius  of  the  race  had  free  room  for  expansion,  without  being 
checked  by  old  institutions  as  it  was  every  where  in  Europe.  A  bold 
and  hardy  people  was  the  consequence,  possessing  high  notions  of 
personal  independence,  and  accustomed  from  the  very  first  to  choose 
their  own  rulers  and  make  their  own  laws.  Had  a  less  energetic 
stock  colonized  these  shores,  the  destiny  of  the  western  world  would 
have  been  far  different.  No  other  people  but  one  formed  and 
nurtured  as  the  early  settlers  were,  could  have  achieved  the  inde- 
pendence of  this  country.  Fortunately  the  materials  for  the  state 
were  of  the  best  possible  kind,  nor  was  any  parent  community  at 
hand  to  wither  the  young  commonwealth  by  its  protecting  shadow  ; 
but  the  colonies  were  suffered  to  grow  into  power,  and  to  know 
their  own  strength,  before  the  mother  country  interfered  to  harass 
them ;  and  by  that  time  they  were  able  to  conquer  their  indepen- 


22  HISTORY  OF 

dence,  and  to  maintain  it  afterwards.  If  instead  of  being  three 
thousand  miles  away,  the  young  republic  had  started  upon  European 
soil,  it  never  would  have  been  allowed  to  try  the  experiment  of  self- 
government  unmolested ;  but  foreign  powers,  alarmed  at  the  effect 
its  example  might  produce,  would  early  have  interfered  and  crushed 
its  development.  In  that  case  our  liberties  could  only  have  been 
achieved  by  the  blood  and  horror  of  a  second  French  Revolution ; 
and  after  we  had  filled  Europe  with  the  glare  of  conflagration,  we 
might  at  last  have  proved  unworthy  of  freedom. 

It  is  evident  to  the  eye  of  the  philosopher  that  the  old  world  is 
worn  out.  There  are  cycles  in  empires,  as  well  as  in  dynasties ; 
and  Europe,  after  nearly  two  thousand  years,  seems  to  have  fin- 
ished another  term  of  civilization.  The  most  polished  nation  in  the 
eastern  hemisphere  is  now  where  the  Roman  Empire  was  just 
before  it  verged  to  a  decline  :  the  same  system  of  government,  the 
same  extremes  of  wealth  and  poverty,  the  same  delusive  prosperity 
characterizing  both.  Europe  stands  on  the  crust  of  a  decayed  vol- 
cano which  at  any  time  may  fall  in.  The  social  fabric,  in  the  old 
world,  is  in  its  dotage.  The  whole  tendency  of  the  philosophic  mind 
abroad,  is  towards  change  ;  but  whence  to  seek  relief,  or  in  what 
manner  to  invoke  it  ?  It  is  not  too  visionary  to  believe  that  from 
the  new  world  will  come  the  recuperative  energy  which  is  to  restore 
the  old,  and  that  America  is  hereafter  to  return  to  Europe,  in  an 
improved  condition,  the  civilization  she  borrowed  in  her  youth. 
The  one  starts  where  the  other  leaves  off.  The  United  States  begins 
with  an  experience  of  two  thousand  years.  At  the  same  ratio  of 
progress  with  which  it  has  advanced  during  the  last  century,  it  will 
attain,  by  the  close  of  the  next,  a  social  and  political  elevation,  at 
present  incredible.  Its  population,  exceeding  that  of  any  Empire 
but  China,  will  all  speak  the  same  language,  possess  the  same  laws, 
and  boast  the  same  blood ;  and  history  will  be  searched  in  vain  for 
an  example  of  such  numbers  collected  into  so  compact  a  territory, 
or  possessing  equal  intelligence  and  enterprize.  It  is  then  that 
emissaries  will  go  hence  to  re-model  the  old  world.  And  the  time 
may  even  come,  as  a  celebrated  English  writer  has  remarked,  when 
Europe  will  be  chiefly  known  and  remembered  from  her  connexions 
with  America  :  when  travellers  will  visit  England,  as  men  now  visit 
Italy,  because  once  the  seat  of  art ;  and  when  antiquaries  from  cities 
beyond  the  Rocky  Mountains,  will  wander  among  the  ruins  of  Lon- 
don, almost  incredulous  that  there  had  once  been  centred  the  com- 
merce of  the  world. 

With  the  Roman  Empire  the  seeds  of  disunion  existed  in  the 


THE   WAR  OF  INDEPENDENCE.  23 

variety  of  races  acknowledging  her  sway,  and  in  the  fact  that  most 
of  the  provinces  had  originally  been  conquered  nations  and  were 
never  completely  assimilated  to  her,  or  to  each  other.  Whe'n  the 
irruptions  of  the  Goths  occurred,  this  unwieldy  and  ill-cemented 
mass  naturally  fell  to  pieces.  Even  during  the  existence  of  the  em- 
pire the  government  of  the  distant  colonies  was  more  or  less  imper- 
fect, as  is  indeed  always  the  case  with  the  provinces  of  an 
extensive  monarchy  or  despotism.  The  body  thrives  while  the 
extremities  wither.  But  in  the  republic  of  the  United  States, 
these  difficulties  are  obviated  by  the  federal  compact,  which 
bestows  on  the  general  government  only  such  power  as  the  states 
cannot  conveniently  use  themselves,  leaving  to  each  common- 
wealth the  right  of  local  legislation.  The  nation  is  governed 
on  the  wise  principle  of  representing  the  wishes  of  the  people  as  a 
whole ;  while  each  individual  state  is  left  to  adjust  its  own  affairs 
in  the  manner  best  suited  to  itself.  For  the  purposes  of  a  free  peo- 
ple occupying  an  extended  territory  the  federal  league  is  the  most 
wonderful  discovery  in  the  whole  range  of  political  science.  It 
combines  the  separate  independence  of  the  municipal  system  of 
Rome,  with  the  compactness  of  a  consolidated  monarchy  such  as 
that  of  France.  Like  the  magic  tent  in  the  fairy  tale,  it  may  shelter 
a  family,  or  cover  a  continent.  It  moreover  carries  within  itself  the 
seeds  of  recuperation,  and  may  be  peaceably  amended  to  suit  the 
altered  condition  of  the  times.  It  is  the  only  form  of  government 
for  an  extensive  republic  that  can  be  relied  on  as  permanent.  A 
cursory  observer  would  suppose,  that  on  the  slightest  difference  of 
opinion  among  the  States,  they  would  separate  into  as  many  hostile 
and  independent  nations :  but  experience  has  shown,  as  philosophy 
prognosticated,  that  the  federal  league  weathers  tempests  that  wreck 
even  constitutional  monarchies.  It  is  the  most  pliable  of  all  the 
forms  of  human  government.  Like  those  vast  Druidical  stones  that 
are  still  the  admiration  of  the  world,  though  their  builders  are  for- 
gotton,  it  is  so  nicely  poised  that  while  rocking  under  the  finger  of 
a  child,  it  yet  defies  human  power  to  hurl  it  to  the  ground. 

The  story  of  the  Revolution,  pregnant  with  such  mighty  con- 
sequences, and  the  lives  and  characters  of  the  great  men  who 
began  and  successfully  completed  it  against  such  overwhelm- 
ing odds,  cannot  fail  to  be  interesting,  especially  to  the  descend- 
ants of  those  who  shed  their  blood  in  that  quarrel.  It  is  our 
purpose  to  narrate  this  theme :  and  we  shall  do  it  without  further 
preface. 


I 


AMERICANS  HARASSING  THE  BRITISH  ON  THEIR  RETREAT  FROM  CONCORD. 


BOOK   I, 


THE    ORIGIN    OP  THE    WAR. 

HE  American  Revolution  natu- 
rally divides  itself  into  five  peri- 
ods. The  first  dates  from  the 
passage  of  the  Stamp  Act  to  the 
battle  of  Lexington.  This  was 
a  period  of  popular  excitement, 
increasing  in  an  accelerated  ratio, 
until  it  burst  forth  with  almost 
irresistable  fury  at  Lexington  and 
Bunker  Hill.  The  second  reaches  to  the  battle  of  Trenton.  During 
this  period  the  popular  enthusiasm  died  away,  and  recruits  were 
difficult  to  be  obtained  for  the  army :  consequently  the  American 
forces  were  made  up  chiefly  of  ill-disciplined  militia,  wholly  incapa- 
ble of  opposing  the  splendid  troops  of  England.  As  a  result  of  this, 
the  battle  of  Long  Island  was  lost,  and  Washington  was  driven 
across  the  Delaware.  In  this  emergency,  even  the  most  sanguine 
of  the  patriots  were  beginning  to  despair,  when  the  commander  in 
chief  made  his  memorable  attack  at  Trenton,  and  rescued  the 
country  from  the  brink  of  ruin.  The  third  period  brings  us  up  to 
the  important  alliance  with  France.  It  was  during  this  period  that 
4  c  25 


26  HISTORY  OP 

a  regular  army,  having  some  pretentions  to  discipline,  was  first 
formed ;  that  the  battles  of  Brandy  wine,  Germantown  and  Mon- 
mouth  were  fought;  and  that  Burgoyne  surrendered.  It  was  a 
period  when,  notwithstanding  the  fortunes  of  the  country  occasion- 
ally ebbed,  the  cause  of  Independence  on  the  whole  steadily  advanced. 
The  fourth  period  embraces  the  war  at  the  south.  During  this 
period  the  military  operations  of  the  British  at  the  north  were  com- 
paratively neglected ;  indeed  England  now  began  to  regard  the  con- 
quest of  the  whole  country  as  impossible,  and  therefore  resolved  to 
concentrate  all  her  energies  on  one  part,  in  hopes  to  subdue  it  at 
least.  The  fifth  and  last  period,  which  had  nearly  proved  fatal, 
after  all,  to  Independence,  comprises  the  capture  of  Cornwallis; 
witnesses  the  deliverance  of  the  nation  from  a  financial  crisis ;  and 
finally  beholds  Independence  acknowledged,  and  the  enemy's  troops 
withdrawn  from  our  shores.  To  each  of  these  periods  we  shall 
devote  a  book :  the  first  we  shall  now  portray. 

There  can  be  no  question  but  that  the  colonies  would  eventually 
have  detached  themselves  from  the  mother  country,  even  if  the 
severance  had  not  occurred  at  the  period  of  which  we  write.  While 
the  provinces  were  young  and  feeble,  they  naturally  looked  to  the 
parent  state  for  countenance ;  but  when  they  grew  to  manhood,  the 
sentiment  of  Independence  and  the  consciousness  of  importance 
sprang  up  together  in  their  bosoms.  In  everything  the  colonies 
found  themselves  pinched  and  controlled  by  the  supremacy  of 
England.  They  were  not  allowed  to  trade  where  or  when  they 
pleased :  they  were  compelled  to  pay  a  certain  portion  of  the 
product  of  their  mines  to  the  king :  and  in  many  other  ways  they 
were  made  continually  to  feel  that  their  existence  was  permitted, 
not  so  much  for  their  own  benefit,  as  for  that  of  the  parent  state. 
Originally  seeking  a  refuge  in  the  new  world  because  of  religious 
and  political  tyranny  at  home,  their  independent  spirit  had  increased, 
rather  than  diminished :  and  this  naturally,  in  consequence  of  the 
agricultural  life  they  led,  and  the  democratic  character  of  their 
colonial  governments.  There  were,  long  before  the  Revolution,  a 
few  observing  intellects  who  prognosticated,  in  consequence  of  these 
things,  an  ultimate  disruption  between  America  and  England.  The 
Swedish  traveller,  Kolm,  twenty  years  before  the  contest,  has  re- 
corded the  prophecies  of  such  minds.  But  the  great  body  of  the 
people,  not  yet  pressed  on  directly  by  the  aggressions  of  the  mother 
country,  were  insensible  of  wrong. 

A  wise  government  would  have  temporized  with  the  colonies 
and  endeavored  to  avert  as  long  as  possible  the  breach  which  it 


THE  WAR  OF  INDEPENDENCE.  27 

saw  to  be  inevitable ;  but  England,  at  the  period  of  the  Revolution, 
was  ruled  by  a  ministry  which  either  could  not  or  would  not  under- 
stand America.  In  an  evil  hour  for  Great  Britain  it  was  resolved 
to  draw  a  revenue  from  the  colonies  by  direct  taxation.  In  vain 
Burke  lifted  his  warning  voice.  "The  fierce  spirit  of  liberty,"  he 
said, "  is  stronger  in  the  English  colonies  probably  than  with  any  other 
people  of  the  earth."  In  vain  a  few  discerning  minds  in  England 
pointed  to  the  examples  of  Pitt  and  Walpole,  former  prime-ministers, 
both  of  whom  had  refused  to  tax  America.  Said  the  latter  shrewdly, 
"  I  will  leave  that  measure  to  some  one  of  my  successors  who  has 
more  courage  than  I  have."  The  Grenville  ministry,  brave  with 
the  audacity  of  ignorant  folly,  resolved  to  undertake  what  others 
had  shrunk  from,  and  draw  a  revenue  from  America,  not  only 
incidentally  as  of  old,  but  directly  by  a  certain  fixed  tax. 

As  a  preliminary  measure,  however,  two  acts  were  passed,  having 
reference  to  the  trade  and  finances  of  the  provinces.  The  first  of 
these  imposed  heavy  duties  on  indigo,  coffee,  silk,  and  many  other 
articles,  imported  into  the  colonies  from  the  West  Indies,  besides 
requiring  the  customs  to  be  paid  in  gold  or  silver:  by  this  act  a 
very  lucrative  branch  of  commerce  was  at  once  destroyed.  The 
second  declared  the  paper  money,  which  had  been  issued  by  the 
provinces  to  defray  the  expences  of  the  war  just  closed,  not  a  legal 
tender  in  the  payment  of  debts.  Each  of  these  laws  was  equally 
irritating.  But  had  the  ministry  stopped  here,  no  immediate 
opposition  would  have  been  aroused ;  for  the  colonies  had  been  too 
long  accustomed  to  old  commercial  restrictions  to  take  offence  at 
new  ones.  But  these  measures  proving  insufficient  to  raise  the 
revenue  which  the  ministers  desired  to  reap  from  America — a  direct 
tax  was  resolved  upon,  and  the  Stamp  Act  accordingly  brought 
forward. 

It  has  often  been  a  subject  of  surprise  that  Great  Britain  should 
ever  have  entertained  the  idea  of  taxing  America  without  her 
consent,  or  should  have  persisted  in  it  after  discovering  her  oppo- 
sition. But,  when  we  consider  the  attending  circumstances,  all 
astonishment  ceases.  England  had  just  come  out  of  an  expensive 
war,  which  though  in  reality  produced  by  her  own  aggressions  on 
this  continent,  she  persuaded  herself  was  undertaken  for  the  defence 
of  her  colonies ;  and  therefore  it  seemed  but  natural  that  the  pro- 
vinces should  be  made  to  pay  a  part  of  the  cost.  This  was  un- 
questionably the  first  view  taken  of  the  subject  by  the  majority  of 
the  middle  class  of  Englishmen.  As  the  dispute  advanced,  this 
selfish  desire  to  lighten  their  own  burdens,  received  a  new  ally  in 


28  THE   WAR  OP  INDEPENDENCE. 

the  national  obstinacy  which  would  not  brook  opposition.  Up  to  a 
comparatively  late  period  of  the  war,  these  causes,  combined  with  a 
feeling  of  contempt  for  America,  as  a  province,  produced  a  very 
extraordinary  unity  of  sentiment  among  the  country  gentlemen  in 
parliament,  and  the  middle  classes  out  of  it,  in  favor  of  England 
persisting  in  her  claim. 

In  further  confirmation  of  this  view,  is  the  fact  that,  from  the 
hour  when  the  dispute  first  began,  up  to  the  breaking  out  of  the 
Revolution,  the  parliament,  whether  in  the  hands  of  a  tory  or  whig 
ministry,  never  abandoned  the  assertion  of  its  right  to  tax  America. 
In  1766,  when  the  Rockingham  administration  desir"ed  to  repeal  the 
Stamp  Act,  it  was  found  necessary  to  preface  it  by  a  declaratory 
act,  asserting  the  right  of  the  mother  country  to  bind  the  colonies  in 
all  cases  whatever.  In  1770,  when  Lord  North  brought  in  his 
bill  to  remove  the  obnoxious  duties,  he  retained  the  duty  on  tea, 
expressly  to  reserve  the  right  of  parliamentary  taxation.  It  is  a 
lamentable  truth,  yet  one  to  which  the  historian  must  not  shut  his  eyes, 
that  with  the  exception  of  a  portion  of  the  whigs,  of  the  merchants 
engaged  in  the  American  trade,  and  of  a  few  comprehensive  minds 
like  those  of  Burke  and  Chatham,  the  great  body  even  of  intelligent 
Englishmen,  regarded  the  provinces  as  factious  colonies,  and 
sustained,  if  they  did  not  urge  on  the  government  in  its  domineering 
course.  Moreover,  the  King,  from  first  to  last,  was  the  uncompro- 
mising foe  of  conciliation.  When  these  facts  are  understood,  the 
riddle  becomes  plain.  The  coldness  with  which  parliament  and  the 
people  received  the  various  appeals  of  the  American  Congress,  prior 
to  the  war,  is  no  longer  a  mystery ;  the  headlong  obstinacy  of  the 
mother  country  ceases  to  astonish,  for  men  are  never  so  guilty  of 
follies  as  when  angry:  and  the  inefficiency  of  subsequent  conces- 
sions, which  the  Americans  have  been  blamed  for  not  receiving  in 
a  more  generous  spirit,  becomes  apparent,  since  never,  during  the 
whole  progress  of  those  conciliatory  movements,  did  England  aban- 
don the  disputed  claim.  While  the  irritating  cause  is  left  in  the 
wound,  palliatives  are  but  a  mockery. 

The  Stamp  Act  became  a  law  on  the  22d  of  March,  1765.  Its 
direct  effect  was  only  the  imposition  of  stamp  duties  on  certain 
papers  and  documents  used  in  the  colonies.  As  it  however  em- 
bodied a  great  principle,  of  which  itself  was  but  the  entering  wedge, 
the  provinces  took  the  alarm  the  more  readily,  perhaps,  inconsequence 
of  the  prevailing  irritation  in  reference  to  the  navigation  laws,  and 
the  rigor  with  which  they  had  begun  to  be  enforced.  At  first, 
however,  there  was  no  public  expression  of  discontent.  The  country 

ft 


THE    STAMP    ACT. 


PATRICK    HENRY. 


seemed  to  stand  at  gaze,  struck  dumb  with  astonishment.  Patrick 
Henry,  in  the  Virginia  Assembly,  led  the  way  in  giving  voice  to 
the  popular  feeling.  He  introduced  into,  and  passed  through  'that 
body  a  series  of  resolutions  declaratory  of  the  right  of  Virginia  to 
be  exempt  from  taxation,  except  by  a  vote  of  the  provincial  legis- 
lature, with  the  assent  of  his  majesty  or  substitute  :  a  right  which 
the  citizens  of  Virginia,  the  resolutions  further  asserted,  inherited 
from  their  English  ancestors,  and  had  frequently  had  guaranteed  to 
them  by  the  King  and  people  of  Great  Britain :  a  right,  to  attempt 
the  destruction  of  which,  would  be  subversive  of  the  constitution, 
and  of  British  and  American  freedom.  It  was,  while  advocating 
these  resolutions,  that  the  memorable  scene  occurred  which  Wirt 
graphically  portrays.  The  orator  was  in  the  full  torrent  of  decla- 
mation against  the  tyrannical  act,  when  he  exclaimed,  "  Caesar  had 
his  Brutus,  Charles  the  First  his  Cromwell,  and  George  the  Third" — 
But  here  he  was  interrupted  by  loud  cries  of  "treason,  treason," 
resounding  through  the  house.  Henry  paused,  drew  himself  up  to 
his  loftiest  height,  and  fixing  his  undaunted  eye  on  the  speaker, 

c* 


30  THE   WAR  OF  INDEPENDENCE. 

J 

elevated  his  voice  while  he  finished  the  sentence,  "and  George  the 
Third  may  profit  by  their  example.  If  this  be  treason,  make  the 
most  of  it."  The  boldness  of  the  man,  and  'of  his  words,  were 
electric ;  not  only  on  the  Assembly,  but  on  the  people  at  large.  The 
retort  hit  the  popular  nerve,  and  thrilling  through  the  nation, 
quickened  the  pulse  and  fired  the  heart  of  patriotism.  It  was  like 
the  spark  of  fire  to  the  dry  prairie :  instantaneously  the  whole 
country  was  in  a  blaze. 

Massachusetts  was  the  next  colony  to  give  an  impetus  to  the 
career  of  Revolution.  The  other  provincial  Assemblies  had  passed 
acts  similar  to  that  of  Virginia ;  but  shrewd  men  saw  that  it  required 
something  more  to  produce  a  permanent  effect.  As  early  as  1754, 
the  plan  of  a  general  league,  to  carry  on  the  ordinary  government 
of  the  colonies,  had  been  rejected  by  the  ministry,  after  having  been 
adopted  by  the  provinces.  A  similar  league  suggested  itself  now  as 
of  use  in  this  emergency.  Simultaneously,  the  idea  of  a  Congress 
of  the  colonies  struck  different  minds  in  opposite  sections  of  America. 
It  was  reserved  for  Massachusetts,  however,  to  give  this  sentiment 
a  voice.  On  the  6th  of  June,  1765,  her  legislature  resolved  it  was 
expedient  that  a  general  Congress  of  deputies  from  all  the  provinces 
should  meet  at  New  York  on  the  first  Tuesday  of  October,  to  consult 
on  their  grievances. 

In  the  meantime  the  first  riot  of  the  Revolution  occurred,  and  at 
Boston,  from  that  time  forth  the  head-quarters  of  turbulence  and 
disaffection.  Distributors  of  stamps  had  already  been  appointed  for 
the  several  colonies,  though  the  Stamp  Act  was  not  to  go  in  opera- 
tion until  the  1st  of  November.  On  the  morning  of  the  14th  of 
August,  an  effigy  of  Andrew  Oliver,  the  distributor  of  stamps  for 
Massachusetts,  was  discovered  hanging  from  a  tree  on  the  town 
common,  since  known  as  the  "  liberty  tree."  At  night  a  large  mob 
assembled,  which  burned  the  effigy,  and  afterwards  attacked  the 
stamp  office  and  residence  of  Oliver.  The  next  day  this  obnoxious 
individual  resigned.  The  popular  leaders  now  strove  to  check 
further  violence :  but  the  mob  was  not  satisfied  until  it  had  com- 
mitted other  disgraceful  outrages.  Before  the  excitement  subsided, 
the  papers  of  the  court  of  admiralty  had  been  destroyed,  the  dwell- 
ings of  the  collectors  of  customs  had  been  razed  to  the  ground,  and 
the  beautiful  garden,  the  richly  furnished  mansion,  and  the  valuable 
library  of  state  papers  belonging  to  the  lieutenant  governor,  Hutch- 
inson,  had  been  sacrificed  to  the  popular  phrensy.  In  the  other 
colonies  the  distributors  of  stamps  averted  a  similar  tumult  by 
resigning. 


THE    STAMP   ACT.  3J 

In  October,  1765,  the  Congress  assembled  pursuant  to  recom- 
mendation. Deputies  from  nine  colonies  were  in  attendance.  The 
attitude  of  the  assembly  was  firm  but  conciliatory.  A  petition  to 
the  King,  and  a  memorial  to  parliament,  were  prepared  and  signed 
hy  all  the  members  present.  In  these  documents  the  affection  of 
the  provinces  to  the  person  of  the  King  as  well  as  to  his  government 
was  enlarged  on ;  but  at  the  same  time  the  determination  of  the 
colonies  to  preserve  their  liberty  was  explicitly  expressed.  It  was 
declared  that  the  constitution  guaranteed  to  British  subjects  im- 
munity from  taxation,  unless  by  their  own  representatives ;  while  it 
was  argued  that  the  remote  situation  of  the  colonies  practically 
forbade  this  representation,  unless  in  their  own  provincial  assem- 
blies. In  conclusion  a  prayer  was  made  for  the  redress  of  their 
wrongs.  This  petition  and  memorial  had  no  effect,  for  the  reasons 
we  have  before  explained.  The  only  benefit  of  the  Congress  was  the 
bringing  together  leading  men  from  the  different  colonies,  by  which 
a  certain  sort  of  unity  of  purpose  was  obtained,  and  a  way  opened 
for  future  assemblies  of  the  kind.  In  the  end,  it  led  to  a  closer 
acquaintance  between  the  provinces,  gradually  removing  the  local 
prejudices  that  had  formerly  prevailed;  and  this,  ultimately,  to  that 
feeling  of  a  common  interest  almost  amounting  to  nationality,  with- 
out which  the  war  of  Independence  would  have  failed  in  its  first 
year.  Thus,  from  comparatively  small  beginnings,  does  Providence 
work  out  his  great  designs. 

The  1st  of  November,  the  day  on  which  the  Stamp  Act  was  to 
go  into  effect,  at  last  arrived.  The  colonists  had  meantime  resolved 
not  to  wear  English  goods  until  the  illegal  law  was  repealed.  On 
this  occasion,  therefore,  the  citizens  were  all  in  homespun,  rich  and 
poor  alike.  At  Boston  the  bells  were  tolled  and  the  shops  closed. 
At  Portsmouth,  N.  H.,  a  coffin  inscribed  "  Liberty,  setat  cxlv  years," 
was  borne  in  funeral  procession,  interred  to  the  sound  of  minute 
guns,  and  an  oration  pronounced  over  its  grave.  Everywhere  the 
people  acted  as  if  some  great  calamity  had  happened :  men  spoke 
of  freedom  as  if  she  had  forever  departed  from  their  midst.  Mean- 
time the  Stamp  Act  became  practically  nugatory.  The  citizens 
refused  to  use  the  stamped  paper.  The  regularly  appointed  officers 
declined  the  obnoxious  duty.  The  attorneys  determined  to  employ 
ordinary  paper,  as  of  old,  in  legal  documents,  in  defiance  of  the  law. 
Vessels  were  cleared  without  the  stamped  papers,  no  collector  being 
willing  to  brave  the  popular  odium.  Even  the  royal  governors  had 
to  bend  to  the  storm  and  grant  dispensations. 


32  THE  WAR  OF  INDEPENDENCE. 

In  the  midst  of  the  general  depression  and  gloom  came  a  sudden 
gleam  of  hope.  The  Grenville  administration  went  out  of  office, 
and  was  succeeded  by  that  of  the  Marquis  of  Rockingham.  The 
new  ministry  was  composed  chiefly  of  whig's.  One  of  its  first  acts 
was  to  agitate  the  repeal  of  the  obnoxious  law.  Dr.  Franklin,  at  that 
time  in  London,  was  called  before  the  bar  of  the  House  of  Com- 
mons, in  order  to  be  interrogated  respecting  the  opinions  of  his 
countrymen  and  the  condition  of  the  colonies.  His  clear  and  in- 
telligent answers,  united  to  the  moderation  of  his  sentiments,  pro- 
duced a  great  effect  on  the  public  mind.  After  the  passage  of  the 
declaratory  act  to  which  we  have  before  alluded,  the  Stamp  Act 
itself  was  repealed,  March  the  15th,  1766.  The  intelligence  was 


BBCEPTION  OF   NEWS   OS  THE  REPEAL   OP  THE  STAMP  ACT. 

received  in  America  with  transports  of  joy.  At  first  the  repeal  was 
accepted  as  a  boon,  instead  of  being  received  as  a  right.  All  hostile 
thoughts  were  immediately  laid  aside :  importations  were  renewed, 
homespun  was  discarded.  But  this  extravagant  joy  was  of  short 
duration.  As  soon  as  the  first  burst  of  enthusiasm  was  over,  and 
men  began  to  comprehend  more  exactly  the  true  condition  of  things, 
it  was  found  that  England  still  asserted  her  obnoxious  claim,  though 
for  the  time  being  she  waived  its  exercise.  This  alarming  fact  dis- 
turbed the  public  mind  with  fears  for  the  future.  The  tone  of  the 
royal  governors,  who  acted  on  instructions  from  the  ministry  at 
home,  was,  moreover,  supercilious  and  domineering  to  the  last 
degree. 

In  the  short  space  of  a  year  the  worst  suspicions  of  the  colonists 
were  verified.  The  Rockingham  administration  was  overthrown, 
and  succeeded  by  one  in  which  Charles  Townshend  was  con- 
spicuous. That  gentleman  revived  the  idea  of  taxing  America. 
Accordingly,  in  June,  1767,  a  bill  was  signed  by  the  King,  imposing 


THE    NEW    TAX    BILL.  33 

duties  on  glass,  tea,  paper  and  colors  imported  into  the  colonies. 
This  bill  was  thought  to  be  such  a  one  as  the  provinces  could  not 
complain  of,  since  they  had  heretofore  made  a  distinction  between 
external  and  internal  taxes  :  and  the  probability  is,  that,  if  such  a 
bill  had  been  originally  passed  in  place  of  the  Stamp  Act,  it  would 
have  received  little  or  no  opposition.  But  times  had  changed.  The 
colonies  had  been  taught  to  distrust  the  parent  state :  they  had 
learned  to  examine  into  their  own  rights.  The  spirit  of  resistance 
which  at  first  had  flowed  in  a  feeble  and  insignificant  current,  began 
to  widen  and  deepen  with  new  sources  of  complaint,  until,  finally, 
even  greater  concessions  than  it  had  originally  asked,  proving  in- 
sufficient to  restrain  it — it  rolled  on,  bearing  down  all  opposition, 
and  involving  everything  in  its  overwhelming  torrent. 

The  new  tax  bill  was  received  in  Massachusetts  with  peculiar 
disfavor.  The  legislature  addressed  a  circular  letter  to  the  other 
colonies,  requesting  their  aid  in  obtaining  a  redress  of  grievances. 
This  gave  great  offence  to  the  English  ministry,  which  sent  out 
immediately  a  circular  letter  to  the  royal  governors,  in  which  the 
Massachusetts  letter  was  denounced  as  factious.  The  governor  of 
Massachusetts  was  ordered  to  require  the  Assembly  to  repeal  the 
resolution  on  which  the  obnoxious  epistle  had  been  founded.  On 
receiving  a  refusal  he  dissolved  the  Assembly.  In  the  other  pro- 
vinces the  ministerial  letter  was  treated  with  equal  disregard. 

Meantime  other  causes  of  irritation  were  arising.  The  ministry 
had  long  desired  to  make  the  colonists  support  the  royal  troops 
quartered  among  them,  which  the  colonists  had  continually  refused. 
Before  the  dissolution  of  the  Massachusetts  Assembly,  it  had  main- 
tained a  triumphant  altercation  with  the  governor  on  this  point.  In 
New  York,  however,  the  ministry  was  more  successful.  In  addition 
to  their  difficulties  about  the  soldiery,  came^others  in  relation  to  the 
execution  of  the  laws  of  trade.  It  had  been  usual  to  evade  these 
laws  very  generally,  but  the  commissioners  now  determined  to  ex- 
ercise the  utmost  rigor ;  and  in  consequence,  a  riot  arose  at  Boston 
in  reference  to  the  sloop  Liberty,  owned  by  John  Hancock,  which 
had  just  arrived  from  Madeira  with  a  cargo  of  wines.  The  com- 
missioners in  the  end,  had  to  fly  the  town.  In  the  very  midst  of 
these  disorders  several  transports  appeared  with  troops,  and  as  the 
selectmen  refused  to  provide  for  them,  they  were  quartered  in 
Fanueil  Hall.  More  troops  kept  arriving,  until,  by  the  close  of  the 
year,  the  force  in  Boston  amounted  to  four  thousand  men. 

The  attitude  assumed  by  Massachusetts  was  particularly  exaspe- 
rating to  the  ministry.  Charles  Townshend  was  now  dead,  and 
5 


34 


THE  WAR  OF  INDEPENDENCE. 


FANUETL  HALL. 


had  been  succeeded  by  Lord  North,  who  continued  to  the  end  of 
the  war,  with  but  a  slight  intermission,  to  be  prime  minister.  But 
the  policy  of  England  was  not  altered.  In  retaliation  for  what  was 
called  the  factious  spirit  of  Massachusetts  a  petition  to  the  King 
was  passed,  beseeching,  him,  and  in  effect  authorizing  the  colonial 
governor  to  arrest  and  send  to  England  for  trial  all  persons  suspected 
of  treason.  So  glaring  an  outrage  on  the  rights  of  the  colonists  was 
received  in  America  with  one  general  cry  of  indignation.  For  its 
boldness  in  denouncing  this  outrage,  the  Assembly  of  Virginia  was 
dissolved  by  the  royal  governor,  Lord  Botetourt.  But,  nothing 
intimidated,  the  members  met  immediately,  and  recommended  to 
their  fellow  citizens,  again,  the  non-importation  of  British  goods. 
Most  of  the  other  colonies  imitated  this  example.  The  popular 
sentiment  warmly  seconded  the  movement :  committees  were  ap- 
pointed to  enforce  compliance ;  and  the  names  of  offenders  were 
published  in  the  newspapers  and  held  up  to  public  scorn  as  enemies 
of  the  country. 


RIOT    AT    BOSTON.  35 

In  the  meantime,  the  people  of  Massachusetts  finding  their  general 
court  dissolved,  boldly  elected  members  to  a  convention ;  the  dif- 
ferent towns  choosing  the  delegates.  This  act  was  a  virtual  declara- 
tion of  independence.  The  convention,  however,  did  little  beyond 
petition  the  governor  for  a  redress  of  grievances,  and  recommend 
endurance,  patience  and  good  order  to  the  people.  In  May,  1768, 
a  new  general  court  met,  when  the  old  difficulties  about  the  troops 
were  revived.  The  court  began  by  refusing  to  sit  while  Boston 
was  occupied  by  an  armed  force.  The  governor  then  adjourned 
the  sittings  of  the  body  to  Cambridge.  The  court  next  remonstrated 
against  the  quartering  of  soldiers  in  the  capital.  The  governor,  in 
return,  sent  it  an  account  of  the  expenditures  for  the  support  of  the 
troops,  and  demanded  that  the  sum  should  be  paid,  and  a  provision 
made  for  the  future.  The  court  refused  to  comply,  and  on  this  the 
governor  prorogued  it. 

The  presence  of  the  troops  in  Boston  was  naturally  irritating  to 
the  inhabitants.  A  free  people  cannot  brook  an  armed  force.  Fre- 
quent quarrels  occurred  between  the  townsfolk  and  the  soldiery,  but 
no  serious  difficulty  arose  until  the  fifth  of  March,  1770.  On  that 
day,  however,  an  affray,  in  part  premeditated  on  the  side  of  the 
people,  took  place,  in  which  the  troops,  as  a  means  of  self-preserva- 
tion, finally  fired  on  the  mob.  Three  men  were  killed,  and  several 
wounded,  one  of  whom  subsequently  died.  This  affair  has  ever 
since  gone  by  the  name  of  the  massacre.  A  collision  was,  perhaps, 
inevitable,  considering  that  the  very  presence  of  the  soldiers  was  an 
outrage ;  but  that  the  troops  were  not  wholly  to  blame  is  proven  by 
the  fact  that  a  Boston  jury  acquitted  the  captain  who  gave  the  order 
to  fire,  and  that  Josiah  Quincy  and  John  Adams,  both  popular 
leaders,  felt  it  their  duty  to  join  in  his  defence.  In  all  such  cases 
the  guilt  ought  to  rest  on  the  government  which  commands,  and  not 
on  the  officer  who  executes ;  yet  great  honor  is  due  the  jury,  since, 
perhaps,  in  no  other  community,  under  equally  exciting  circum- 
stances, could  a  similar  verdict  have  been  obtained. 

Events  now  began  to  follow  each  other  in  rapid  succession.  The 
spirit  of  resistance  was  visibly  on  the  increase.  The  ministry  at  last 
grew  alarmed,  and  determined  to  try  conciliatory  measures.  Accord- 
ingly, the  duties  on  glass,  paper  and  colors  were  repealed ;  but  the  duty 
on  tea,  for  the  reasons  we  have  stated,  was  left  unaltered.  This  was  a 
fatal  blunder.  Its  effect  was  to  neutralize  all  the  rest  that  had  been 
done.  Nothing  short  of  a  total  abandonment  of  the  right  of  parlia- 
mentary taxation  would  now  have  satisfied  the  colonies;  and  if 
England  really  wished  to  settle  the  dispute,  she  ought  to  have 


36  THE  WAR  OP  INDEPENDENCE. 

yielded  this  claim  at  once  and  forever.  But,  like  a  miser  from 
whom  a  part  of  his  store  is  demanded  in  commutation,  she  haggled 
for  a  price,  her  concessions  always  falling  short  of  what  was  desired, 
until  finally,  by  her  greediness,  she  lost  all. 

The  southern  provinces,  however,  were  less  firm  than  Massachu- 
setts. In  this  latter  colony  the  non-importation  agreement  continued 
to  be  observed  in  all  its  vigor ;  but  elsewhere  an  exception  was 
made  in  favor  of  those  articles  exempted  by  the  new  bill.  The 
enthusiasm  of  many  persons  had  already  sensibly  declined  under  the 
restrictions  to  which  they  had  subjected  themselves,  and  they  were 
not  sorry,  therefore,  to  find  an  excuse  for  returning  to  the  old  and 
more  comfortable  order  of  things.  Had  the  ministry,  at  this  juncture, 
repealed  the  tax  on  tea,  and  assumed  even  the  appearance  of  con- 
ciliation, there  can  be  no  doubt  but  that  the  majority  of  the  colonists 
would  have  become  perfectly  loyal  once  more  :  a  blind  fate,  however, 
an  inexplicable  perversity,  hurried  Lord  North  forward,  and,  by  re- 
solving to  force  on  the  provinces  the  obnoxious  tea,  he  broke  the 
last  link  existing  between  the  two  countries. 

Another  of  those  fatal  misapprehensions,  however,  of  which  the 
British  ministry  appear  to  have  been  the  victims  throughout  these 
difficulties,  was  at  the  bottom  of  this  new  movement.  Lord  North 
had  been  made  to  believe  that  the  colonies  objected  to  the  tax  itself 
rather  than  to  the  principle  involved  in  it :  in  other  words,  that  they 
feared  more  for  their  pockets  than  for  the  invasion  of  their  rights. 
Consequently  he  resolved  to  furnish  them  with  tea  cheaper  than 
they  had  been  able  to  purchase  it  before  the  existence  of  the  tax, 
and  this  he  effected  by  allowing  the  East  India  company  to  export 
it  duty  free.  But  the  colonies  were  not  so  base  as  to  be  caught  in 
this  lure.  The  trick  was  at  once  discovered.  The  public  press 
called  on  the  people  to  resist  this  new  encroachment  on  their  liber- 
ties. Never  before  had  all  classes  been  so  unanimous  during  the 
whole  progress  of  the  dispute ;  and  when  the  ships,  freighted  with 
tea,  were  announced  off  the  coast,  the  enthusiasm  passed  all  bounds. 
Cargoes  had  been  sent  to  New  York,  Philadelphia,  Charleston  and 
Boston.  New  York  and  Philadelphia  refused  to  suffer  the  tea  to  be 
landed,  and  the  ships  returned  to  London  without  breaking  bulk. 
At  Charleston  the  tea,  though  discharged,  was  put  in  damp  cellars 
where  it  spoiled.  At  Boston,  the  citizens  desired  to  send  the  vessels 
back,  but  the  authorities  refused  permission :  a  proceeding  which 
gave  rise  to  one  of  the  most  memorable  events  of  the  Revolution. 
We  allude  to  the  destruction  of  the  tea  in  Boston  harbor. 


DESTRUCTION    OP    TEA. 


37 


No  sooner  had  the  ships  approached  the  wharves,  than  the  people, 
acting  through  a  committee  appointed  at  a  town  meeting,  gave 
notice  to  the  captains  not  to  land  their  cargoes.  A  guard  was 
posted  on  the  quay,  and  in  case  of  any  insult  during  the  night,  the 
alarm  bell  was  to  be  rung.  The  excitement  soon  spread  to  the 
country,  from  whence  the  people  arrived  in  large  numbers.  The 
consignees,  fearing  violence,  finally  fled  to  the  protection  of  the 
castle.  The  governor,  again  solicited  to  clear  the  ships,  haughtily 
refused.  On  this  being  declared  at  the  town  meeting,  whither  the 
inhabitants  had  collected  almost  spontaneously,  an  alarming  scene 
of  uproar  ensued,  in  the  midst  of  which  a  voice  from  the  crowd 
raised  the  Indian  war-whoop,  and  the  meeting  dissolved  in  confu- 
sion. As  if  foreseeing  what  was  to  ensue,  the  crowd  hurried  to  the 


DESTRUCTION  OF   TEA  IN  BOSTON  HABEOB. 

wharf,  where  the  ships  laden  with  tea  were  moored.  In  a  few 
minutes  about  forty  individuals  disguised  like  Indians,  and  apparently 
acting  on  a  preconcerted  plan,  made  their  appearance  in  the  mob, 
who  opened  eagerly  to  let  them  pass.  A  rush  was  made  for  the 
ships,  the  Indians  boarding  them,  while  the  populace  silently  thronged 
the  wharves.  The  hatches  were  soon  removed,  and  a  portion  of  the 


365412 


38  THE   WAR  OF  INDEPENDENCE. 

patriots  descending  into  the  hold,  passed  up  the  tea,  while  the 
remainder  broke  open  the  chests  as  fast  as  they  appeared,  and  threw 
the  contents  into  the  sea.  It  was  night,  and  a  profound  stillness 
reigned.  There  was  no  cheering  from  the  mob,  no  disorder,  no 
haste.  The  only  sound  heard,  was  the  crash  of  the  chests,  and  the 
tread  of  the  patriots  as  they  crossed  the  decks.  In  two  hours  three 
hundred  and  forty  chests  were  staved  and  emptied  into  the  harbor. 
No  other  property  whatever  was  injured.  When  all  was  finished, 
the  disguised  citizens  left  the  ships,  and  quietly  losing  themselves 
among  the  crowd,  disappeared,  from  that  hour,  from  the  public  eye. 
Discovery  would,  perhaps,  have  led  to  the  scaffold ;  and  hence  those 
most  active  concealed  their  participation  even  from  their  own 
families.  Tradition  narrates  one  instance  in  which  a  good  dame 
discovered,  to  her  dismay,  that  her  husband  had  been  one  of  the 
Indians,  in  consequence  of  finding  his  shoes  filled  with  tea  the  next 
morning  by  her  bed-side.  This  memorable  act,  destined  to  excite 
the  popular  enthusiasm  so  much  in  subsequent  times,  happened  on 
the  16th  of  December,  1773. 

On  receiving  intelligence  of  this  event  the  British  ministry  were 
excessively  exasperated  ;  and  the  feeling  was  shared  by  a  majority 
of  all  classes  in  England.  A  bill  was  immediately  passed  through 
Parliament  to  deprive  Boston  of  her  privileges  as  a  port  of  entry, 
and  bestow  them  on  Salem  :  another  to  revoke,  in  effect,  the  charter 
of  Massachusetts,  by  making  all  magistrates  in  the  colony  be 
appointed  by  the  King,  and  at  his  pleasure  :  and  a  third  to  give  the 
royal  governor  the  power,  at  his  discretion,  to  send  persons  charged 
Avith  homicide,  or  other  criminal  offences,  to  England  for  trial.  To 
these  measures  of  rigor  was  added  one  of  conciliation.  The  gov- 
ernor of  Massachusetts  was  recalled,  and  General  Gage,  a  man 
popular  in  the  colonies,  appointed  in  his  place ;  the  most  ample 
authority  being  given  him  to  pardon  all  treasons  and  remit  forfeitures. 

When  the  intelligence  of  these  acts  arrived  in  America,  the  whole 
country  rose  in  sympathy  and  indignation.  Virginia,  as  on  the 
passage  of  the  Stamp  Act,  was  the  first  to  sound  the  tocsin  of  alarm. 
The  1st  of  June,  the  day  on  which  the  port-bill  was  to  take  effect, 
was  selected  as  a  day  of  fasting,  humiliation  and  prayer ;  copies  of 
the  act  were  printed  on  mourning  paper,  and  disseminated  far  and 
wide  ;  and  popular  orators  in  the  public  halls,  as  well  as  ministers 
of  the  gospel  in  their  churches,  exhausted  eloquence  and  invective 
to  inflame  the  minds  of  the  people.  The  governor  of  Virginia, 
alarmed  at  the  bold  language  of  its  Assembly,  dissolved  that  body ; 
but  not  before  the  members  had  resolved  that  an  attempt  to  coerce 


THE    COLONISTS    SEIZE    THE    PUBLIC    ARMS.  39 

one  colony,  should  be  regarded  as  an  attack  on  all,  and  resisted 
accordingly.  And  as  a  pledge  of  the  sincerity  of  this  opinion, 
another  general  Congress  was  recommende.d,  in  order  that  the  colo- 
nies might  deliberate,  as  one  man,  on  whaf  was  best  to  be  done  for 
the  interests  of  America.  Thus  the  two  nations,  like  hostile  armies 
approaching  each  other,  after  successive  skirmishes,  which  continu- 
ally grew  more  serious,  had  now  met  on  a  common  battle-ground, 
and  were  marshalling  their  respective  forces  into  a  compact  line  for 
a  general  and  decisive  assault. 

The  day  on  which  the  port-bill  went  into  operation,  as  on  the 
similar  occasion  of  the  Stamp  Act,  was  observed  throughout  the 
country  as  a  season  of  mourning.  In  Boston  tears  and  lamentations 
were  everywhere  heard,  mingled  with  angry  execrations  and  threats ; 
for  by  this  act  whole  families  were  reduced  to  indigence,  and 
business  of  all  kinds  received  a  fatal  blow.  But,  in  the  emergency, 
the  sympathy  of  the  country  came  to  their  aid.  Salem  tendered  the 
use  of  her  wharves  to  the  merchants  of  the  persecuted  city,  nobly 
refusing  to  take  advantage  of  her  neighbor's  misfortunes :  while 
collections  for  the  relief  of  the  sufferers  were  made  in  most  of  the 
colonies,  and  promptly  forwarded.  Added  to  this,  a  league,  which 
was  now  started  in  Boston,  to  stop  all  commerce  with  England  until 
the  tyrannical  acts  were  repealed,  was  enthusiastically  received  in 
the  other  colonies,  and  signed  with  avidity;  while  the  Virginia 
proposition  for  another  general  Congress  was  adopted  by  the  several 
legislatures,  and  delegates  chosen  accordingly.  The  City  of  Phila- 
delphia, from  its  superior  wealth  and  importance,  as  well  as  from 
its  central  situation,  was  designated  as  the  place  of  meeting. 

Meanwhile  the  civil  magistrates  in  Massachusetts  suspended  their 
functions,  the  people,  since  the  law  altering  the  appointment  of  these 
officers,  interfering  to  prevent  their  holding  courts,  or  otherwise  ex- 
ercising authority.  In  these  commotions,  not  only  the  irresponsible, 
but  the  wealthy  took  part :  the  landed  proprietors  being  foremost. 
An  opinion  that  war  was  inevitable  began  to  spread.  The  Assem- 
bly of  Massachusetts  having  been  countermanded  by  General  Gage, 
ninety  of  the  members  met,  in  defiance  of  the  proclamation,  and. 
among  other  things,  passed  an  act  for  the  enlistment  of  a  number  of 
inhabitants  to  be  ready  to  march  at  a  minute's  warning ;  and  with 
such  alacrity  was  this  warlike  movement  seconded  by  the  people, 
that,  soon  after,  on  a  false  alarm  that  the  royal  army  had  fired  Bos- 
ton, thirty  thousand  men,  in  a  few  hours,  assumed  arms  and  pro- 
ceeded towards  the  scene  of  strife.  Everywhere  throughout  the  New 
England  states  the  powder  in  the  public  magazines  was  seized.  At 


40 


THE  WAR  OF  INDEPENDENCE. 


Newport,  R.  I.,  the  inhabitants  took  possession  of  forty  pieces  of 
cannon  which  defended  the  harbor.  At  Portsmouth,  N.  H.,  the 
people  stormed  the  fort  and  carried  off  the  artillery.  The  thunder- 
bolts of  war  were  rapidly  forging. 


CARPENTERS'  HALL,  PHILADELPHIA,  WHERE  THE  FIRST  CONGRESS  MET. 


The  Congress  met  on  the  14th  of  September,  1774.  All  the  colo- 
nies were  represented.  Never  before  had  so  august  a  body  assem- 
bled on  the  American  continent.  The  members  having  been  chosen 
for  their  ability,  their  prudence,  or  their  large  possessions,  the  confi- 
dence in  them  was  extreme  ;  and  they  were  universally  regarded  as 
men  who,  in  some  way  or  other,  would  rescue  their  country  from  its 
difficulties.  There  was,  therefore,  as  if  by  tacit  consent,  a  general 
pause  on  all  sides,  every  eye  being  directed  to  this  solemn  and  mo- 
mentous assembly. 

The  first  act  of  the  Congress  was  to  choose  Peyton  Randolph,  of 
Virginia,  President,  and  Charles  Thomson,  of  Philadelphia,  Secre- 
tary ;  a  selection  indicative  of  its  future  proceedings,  both  men  being 
singularly  remarkable  for  prudence  and  firmness.  Its  next  was  to 
pass  a  series  of  resolutions  commending  the  province  of  Massachu- 
setts for  its  patriotic  course.  After  this,  it  published  a  declaration 
of  rights.  Next  it  resolved  to  enter  into  a  non-importation,  non- 


ACTS    OP    THE    FIRST    CONGRESS.  41 

consumption,  and  non-exportation  agreement.  And  finally,  it  adopt- 
ed an  address  to  the  people  of  Great  Britain,  a  memorial  to  the 
inhabitants  of  British  America,  and  a  petition  to  the  King.  * 

These  several  documents  were  written  with  a  moderation  and 
eloquence  which  immediately  attracted  the  attention  of  Europe,  and 
have  rendered  them  models  of  state  papers  even  to  the  present  time. 
The  address  to  the  people  of  England  displayed  particular  merit.  It 
avoided,  with  great  tact,  any  offence  to  their  prejudices,  while  it 
strove  to  enlist  them  in  the  cause  of  America,  by  the  common  bond 
of  interest.  The  memorial,  however,  wholly  failed  of  its  purpose, 
as  did  also  the  petition  to  the  King :  the  public  opinion  in  England, 
excepting  with  a  portion  of  the  whigs,  continuing  to  be  as  obstinate 
as  ever.  The  Congress,  having  executed  its  task  in  a  manner  to 
win  the  increased  confidence  of  the  country,  and  extort  the  applause 
of  unprejudiced  Europe,  adjourned,  after  appointing  the  10th  of  May, 
1775,  for  the  convocation  of  another  general  Congress,  by  which 
period,  it  was  supposed,  the  answers  to  the  memorial  would  be 
received. 

The  Legislature  of  Pennsylvania,  which  convoked  towards  the 
close  of  the  year,  was  the  first  constitutional  authority  which  ratified 
the  acts  of  Congress,  and  elected  deputies  for  the  ensuing.  Provi- 
sion was  immediately  made  of  gunpowder,  iron,  steel,  saltpetre  and 
other  munitions  of  war.  Maryland,  Delaware,  New  Hampshire, 
and  South  Carolina  soon  after  responded  to  the  action  of  Congress 
in  like  manner;  while  Massachusetts  and  Virginia,  in  which  the 
flame  of  liberty  had  first  blazed  forth,  emulated  each  other  in  enthu- 
siastic preparations  for  the  appeal  to  arms.  In  the  latter  colony,  the 
officers  of  the  provincial  militia,  after  expressing  their  loyalty  to  the 
King,  signified  their  determination  to  embark  in  the  cause  of  the 
Congress;  while  in  the  former  place,  regiments  were  formed  at 
Marblehead,  Salem,  and  other  seaports,  of  men  thrown  out  of  em- 
ployment, and  thus  doubly  exasperated  against  England.  In  a  word, 
the  whole  country  suddenly  assumed  the  aspect  of  a  garrisoned 
camp,  about  to  be  beseiged,  where  all  men  busied  themselves  with 
forging  armor,  preparing  weapons,  and  disciplining  actively  against 
the  arrival  of  the  foe. 

But  one  exception  existed  to  this  unanimity  of  opinion ;  and  that 
was  in  the  case  of  the  colony  of  New  York.  This  province  had 
been,  from  its  foundation,  less  republican  in  the  character  of  its  in- 
stitutions than  the  others :  and  now,  whether  from  this  or  other  causes, 
it  numbered  a  larger  proportion  of  royalists  than  any  sister  colony. 
Moreover,  the  merchants  of  New  York  city  were  deeply  interested 
6  »* 


42  THE   WAR  OP  INDEPENDENCE. 

against  the  non-importation  agreement.  In  consequence,  the  recom- 
mendations of  Congress  were  not  responded  to  in  this  province. 

Whe»tbe  English  ministry  first  saw  the  imposing  attitude  assumed 
by  the  Congress,  and  the  enthusiasm  with  which  the  recommenda- 
tion was  received  by  the  Americans,  the  idea  was  for  a  moment 
entertained  by  Lord  North,  of  making  such  concessions  as  would 
arrest  the  threatened  conflict.  The  disaffection  of  New  York,  how- 
ever, changed  the  ministers  resolution.  Imbibing  the  idea  that  the 
loyalists  in  this  latter  colony  outnumbered  the  patriots,  and  that  they 
were  a  numerous  and  increasing  body  in  the  other  provinces,  he 
determined  to  abandon  all  thought  of  conciliation,  believing  that  the 
Americans  would  yet  eventually  succumb.  In  this  opinion  he  was 
sustained  by  the  declarations  of  General  Grant,  and  others  who  had 
been  in  the  provinces,  and  who  boasted,  that  with  five  regiments  the 
whole  continent  could  be  subdued. 

Accordingly,  several  severe  acts  were  immediately  passed  against 
the  colonies.  Their  trade  was  restricted  to  Great  Britain  and  the 
West  India  islands,  and  their  lucrative  fishery  on  the  Newfoundland 
Banks  prohibited ;  an  exception,  however,  being  made  in  favor  of 
New  York  and  North  Carolina.  They  also  held  out  inducements 
for  the  different  provinces  to  return  to  allegiance  separately,  hoping 
thus  to  break  up  the  league,  which  was  what  they  chiefly  dreaded. 
They  gave  orders  to  embark  ten  thousand  troops  to  America.  And 
finally,  as  the  crowning  act  of  the  whole,  they  declared  the  province 
of  Massachusetts  in  a  state  of  rebellion  ;  firmly  believing  that  the  use 
of  that  terrible  word,  so  intimately  associated  with  the  axe  and 
scaffold,  would  frighten  the  colonists  into  submission. 

But  they  had  to  do  with  men  of  sterner  stuff,  and  who  were  not 
to  be  moved  by  such  anticipations.  The  sons  of  those  patriots  who 
had  dared  Charles  the  First  in  the  height  of  his  power ;  had  with- 
stood even  the  terrible  Cromwell ;  and  had  been  willing  to  share  the 
block  with  Russell  and  Sydney,  in  a  gloomier  hour,  were  not  to  be 
intimidated  by  the  name  of  treason,  or  driven  from  their  course  even 
by  the  ghastly  terrors  of  Temple  Bar.  The  news  of  the  proceedings 
of  Parliament  was  received  with  a  burst  of  indignant  enthusiasm. 
In  Massachusetts,  as  the  province  most  nearly  concerned,  the  flame 
blazed  highest  and  most  intense.  The  Congress  of  that  colony 
passed,  with  acclamation,  a  resolution  to  purchase  gunpowder  and 
procure  arms  for  a  force  of  fifteen  thousand  men.  The  people 
busied  themselves  secretly  in  fulfilling  this  order.  Cannon  balls 
were  carried  through  the  English  post  in  carts  of  manure ;  powder 
in  the  baskets  of  farmers  returning  from  market ;  and  cartridges  in 


ASSEMBLING    OP    THE    MINUTE    MEN. 


43 


BATTLE  OF   LEXINGTON. 


candle-boxes.  Watches  were  posted  at  Cambridge,  Roxbury,  and 
Charlestown,  to  be  on  service  day  and  night,  in  order  to  give  warn- 
ing to  the  towns  where  magazines  were  kept,  in  case  General  Gage 
should  despatch  a  force  to  seize  them.  Like  the  inhabitants  of  a 
feudal  frontier  in  momentary  expectation  of  invasion,  the  people,  as 
it  were,  slept  on  their  arms,  ready,  at  the  light  of  the  first  beacon,  to 
vault  into  the  saddle,  and  gallop  on  the  foe. 

An  outbreak  could  not  be  long  averted.  On  the  18th  of  April, 
1775,  an  expedition  set  out  secretly  from  Boston,  composed  of  the 
grenadiers  and  several  companies  of  light  infantry,  destined  to 
destroy  the  provincial  stores  collected  at  Concord,  about  twenty- 
eight  miles  distant.  Notwithstanding  precautions  had  been  taken 
to  preserve  the  expedition  secret,  the  colonists  received  intelligence 
of  the  projected  movement,  and  fleet  couriers  were  despatched 
in  advance,  to  alarm  the  towns  along  the  route,  and  procure  the 
removal  of  the  stores.  The  bells  rung ;  cannon  were  fired  ;  beacons 
blazed  on  the  night ;  and  everywhere  the  country  was  filled  with 
excitement  and  alarm.  The  minute  men  turned  out.  The  people 
armed.  At  Lexington  a  small  party  had  assembled  on  the  green, 
certainly  with  no  intention  of  immediate  strife,  as  their  number  was 


•         x  • 

44  THE    WAR    OP    INDEPENDENCE. 

too  few,  when,  at  daylight,  the  British  grenadiers  appeared  in  sight, 
and  Major  Pitcairn,  considerably  excited,  riding  np,  exclaimed, 
"Disperse,  you  rebels,  lay  down  your  arms  and  disperse."  The 
provincials  hesitated  to  obey.  Pitcairn,  springing  from  the  ranks, 
fired  a  pistol  at  the  foremost  minute-man,  brandished  his  sword,  and 
ordered  the  soldiers  to  fire.  On  this  the  provincials  retired,  sullenly 
fighting  as  they  fled. 

The  English  commander,  now  sensible  of  his  imprudence,  hurried 
on  eagerly  to  Concord.  Here  the  inhabitants  were  found  in  arms, 
but,  being  too  few  to  make  a  successful  stand,  they  were  routed  by 
the  light  infantry,  while  the  remainder  of  the  royal  force  proceeded 
to  destroy  the  stores,  which  the  colonists  had  not  had  leisure  to 
remove.  This  occupied  some  time,  at  the  end  of  which  the  country 
people  began  to  swarm  to  the  scene.  The  light  infantry,  which  at 
first  had  been  victorious,  was  now  in  turn  compelled  to  fly,  and  re- 
joining the  grenadiers,  the  whole  body  commenced  a  precipitate 
retreat. 

The  country  rose  with  one  sentiment,  on  hearing  of  the  massacre 
at  Lexington,  and  marched  to  intercept  the  fugitives  on  their  retreat. 
In  consequence,  the  English,  on  their  way  back  to  Boston,  had  to 
maintain  a  running  fight ;  the  provincials  harassing  them  from  every 
cross-road,  from  behind  stone  fences,  and  from  the  windows  of 
houses.  But  for  the  timely  arrival  of  a  reinforcement  under  Lord 
Percy,  which  joined  the  fugitives  at  Lexington,  the  whole  detach- 
ment would  have  fallen  a  sacrifice.  Weary,  dispirited,  and  weak 
from  wounds,  the  royal  soldiers  reached  Charlestown  neck  at  night- 
fall, and  the  next  day  slunk  into  Boston,  where  they  remained 
besieged  until  the  evacuation  of  the  town  in  the  succeeding  year. 

In  this  manner  was  the  first  blow  struck  in  the  memorable  war 
for  American  Independence  :  a  war  which  laid  the  foundation  of  a 
mighty  republic,  and  has  since  shaken  half  the  habitable  globe. 


THE  MINUTE  MAN  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 


BOOK  II, 


TO    THE    BATTLE    OP   TRENTON. 


HE  intelligence  of  the  battle  of  Lex- 
ington traversed  the  country  with  the 
speed  of  a  miracle.  On  the  first  news 
of  the  fight,  couriers,  mounted  on 
fleet  horses,  started  off  in  every  direc- 
tion, and  when  one  gave  out  another 
took  his  place,  so  that  before  midnight 
the  event  was  known  at  Plymouth, 
and  on  the  next  day  through  all  the 
_^___ peaceful  vallies  of  Connecticut.  Eve- 

rywhere the  information  was  received  as  a  signal  for  war.  Old 
and  young  seized  their  arms  and  hastened  without  delay  to 
Boston.  The  provincial  leaders  in  the  late  French  war,  who  had 
for  nearly  fifteen  years  of  peace  been  quietly  at  work  on  their  farms, 
re-appeared  from  their  obscurity,  resumed  their  swords,  and  called  on 

45 


48  THE  WAR  OF  INDEPENDENCE. 

their  countrymen  to  follow  them  in  this  new  and  more  righteous  quar- 
rel. The  summons  was  obeyed  with  alacrity.  The  New  Hampshire 
militia  were  on  the  ground  almost  before  the  smoke  of  battle  had 
subsided :  the  Connecticut  regiments  followed  in  little  more  than  a 
week ;  while  from  Massachusetts  the  people  poured  in,  with  con- 
stantly increasing  numbers,  inland  as  well  as  sea-coast  contributing 
its  quota  to  the  fray. 

On  the  day  after  the  battle,  the  Provincial  Congress  of  Mas- 
sachusetts ordered  a  levy  of  thirteen  thousand  six  hundred  men : 
an  example  which  was  followed,  though  of  course  on  a  smaller 
scale,  by  the  other  New  England  states.  Before  a  month  an 
army,  fifteen  thousand  strong,  besieged  Boston.  This  imposing 
force  was  under  the  command  of  General  Thomas  Ward,  of 
Massachusetts,  who  fixed  his  headquarters  at  Roxbury.  General 
Putnam,  of  Connecticut,  was  posted  at  Cambridge,  as  his  subor- 
dinate. At  first  the  popular  enthusiasm  ran  so  high  that  the 
Generals  were  forced  to  decline  recruits,  more  presenting  themselves 
than  they  were  authorized  to  enlist. 

Meantime,  in  consequence  of  the  investment,  a  scarcity  of  food 
began  to  be  felt  in  Boston.  Skirmishes  between  the  provincial 
and  royal  detachments  sent  out  for  supplies,  were  the  frequent 
result.  In  this  strait  the  citizens  waited  on  General  Gage  and 
solicited  permission  to  leave  the  town,  to  which  he  at  first  ac- 
ceded; but  in  the  end,  fearing  that  the  city  would  be  set"  on 
fire  as  soon  as  the  patriots  had  retired,  he  withdrew  his  consent. 
After  this,  none  of  the  townspeople  were  suffered  to  depart,  except 
in  rare  instances,  and  then  only  by  the  sacrifice  of  their  furniture, 
which  they  were  restricted  from  removing. 

Not  only  in  New  England,  but  throughout  all  the  Middle  and 
Southern  colonies,  the  intelligence  of  the  battle  of  Lexington  was 
received  with  a  burst  of  enthusiastic  patriotism.  In  New  York  the  tory 
ascendancy  was  swept  away,  never  again  to  be  recovered;  in  Virginia 
the  inhabitants  rose  under  Patrick  Henry,  and  drove  the  governor, 
Lord  Dunmore,  to  his  fleet :  in  South  Carolina  a  Provincial  Congress 
was  convoked,  and  every  man  in  the  colony  offered  for  the  service  of 
the  common  cause  :  while  in  Maryland,  Pennsylvania  and  New  Jer- 
sey the  public  arms  and  treasures  were  seized,  people  of  all  classes, 
even  some  of  the  loyalists  themselves,  joining  in  a  common  cry  of 
vengeance  for  their  slaughtered  countrymen. 

Meantime  two  bold  and  original  minds,  simultaneously,  and 
in  different  sections  of  the  country,  conceived  the  idea  of  cap- 
turing Ticonderoga,  a  fort  at  the  southern  extremity  of  Lake 


CAPTURE    OP    FORT    TICONDEROGA. 


47 


Champlain,  commanding  the  highway  to  the  Canadas.  It  was 
thought  that  not  only  would  the  fall  of  this  place  supply  the 
colonies  with  artillery,  of  which  they  were  deficient,  but  so  bril- 
liant a  feat,  thus  early  in  the  war,  would  exercise  a  powerful 
moral  influence.  Colonel  Ethan  Allen,  with  a  company  of  Green 
Mountain  boys,  had  already  started  on  this  expedition,  when  he  was 
overtaken  by  Colonel  Arnold,  of  Connecticut,  who  had  left  the  camp 
at  Roxbury,  on  a  like  design.  The  surprise  of  the  latter  was  ex- 
treme to  find  himself  anticipated,  but  not  less  so  than  his  chagrin. 
Bold  and  impetuous,  yet  haughty  and  irritable,  he  at  first  demurred 
to  serving  under  Allen,  but  finally  consented,  and  the  two«leaders 
moved  on  in  company,  with  despatch  and  secrecy,  on  which  every- 
thing depended.  Arriving  at  Ticonderoga  with  but  eighty  three 
men,  they  surprised  the  fort  at  day -break  on  the  10th  of  May.  But 
one  sentry  was  at  his  post ;  the  Americans  rushed  in,  formed  into 


COL.  ALLEN  SUMMONING  THE  COMMANDER  OF  FORT  TICONDEROGA  TO  SURRENDER. 


squares,  and  gave  three  cheers,  which  awoke  the  garrison.  Some 
skirmishing  ensued,  but  defence  was  vain.  Hastily  aroused  from 
bed,  the  commander  of  the  fort  stepped  forward,  unable  as  yet  to 
comprehend  why,  or  by  whom,  he  was  assailed.  "  In  whose  name 
am  I  called  on  to  surrender  ?"  he  asked.  "  In  the  name  of  the 
great  Jehovah  and  the  Continental  Congress  ! "  replied  Allen.  Pur- 


48  THE   WAR  OP  INDEPENDENCE. 

suing  their  plan,  the  provincials  sent  a  detachment  immediately  to 
Crown  Point,  another  fort  higher  up  the  lake,  which  also  fell  into 
their  possession.  A  British  sloop  of  war  was,  soon  after,  captured 
by  Arnold  in  the  most  brilliant  manner.  By  these  bold  achieve- 
ments a  large  quantity  of  artillery  and  ammunition  was  obtained, 
besides  the  command  of  the  great  highway  leading  from  the  Cana- 
das  to  the  Hudson.  Arnold  was  left  in  command  at  Crown  Point, 
while  Allen  retained  Ticonderoga. 

When  General  Gage  found  himself  besieged,  he  began  to  con- 
cert measures  to  break  the  meshes  of  his  net.  The  provincial 
army  extended  in  a  semi-circle  around  Boston,  on  the  land  side, 
reaching  from  the  Mystic  river  on  the  north,  to  Roxbury,  on 
the  south ;  the  whole  line  being  twelve  miles  long,  and  suitably 
defended  by  ramparts  of  earth.  Gage  resolved  to  force  this  barricade, 
at  Charlestown  Neck.  To  do  so  it  was  first  necessary  to  seize  and 
fortify  Bunker  Hill,  an  elevation  situated  just  where  the  peninsula 
shoots  out  from  the  mainland.  The  design,  however,  was  pene- 
trated by  the  colonists,  who  resolved  to  anticipate  him.  Accordingly, 
at  midnight  on  the  1 6th  of  June,  a  detachment  of  men,  a  thousand 
strong,  under  the  command  of  Col.  Prescott,  was  marched  secretly 
across  Charlestown  Neck,  with  orders  to  entrench  itself  on  the  sum- 
mit of  Bunker  Hill.  Putnam,  however,  who  went  with  the  detach- 
ment, being  desirous  of  bringing  on  a  battle,  induced  the  alteration 
of  the  original  plan,  and  the  fortifications,  instead  of  being  erected 
on  Bunker  Hill,  were  begun  on  Breed's  Hill,  an  elevation  further 
in  the  peninsula,  and  directly  overlooking  Boston.  It  was  after 
midnight  when  the  first  spade  was  struck  into  the  ground,  but  be- 
fore dawn,  which  happened  at  this  season  at  four  o'clock,  a  con- 
siderable redoubt  had  risen  on  the  summit  of  the  hill :  and  when  the 
enemy  awoke,  he  beheld,  with  astonishment,  this  fortification  tower- 
ing down  upon  him  like  some  edifice  of  Arabian  story,  the  magic 
exhalation  of  a  night. 

It  was  instantly  resolved  to  drive  the  Americans  from  the 
height.  Accordingly  a  cannonade  was  begun  from  the  royal 
ships  in  the  river  below,  which  was  continued  throughout  the 
morning;  but  the  provincials  worked  silently  on,  and  before 
noon  had  nearly  completed  their  defences.  These  were  a  redoubt 
about  eight  rods  square  on  the  summit  of  the  hill,  flanked  with  a 
breast-work  of  earth,  and  a  parapet  running  down  towards  Mystic 
river  made  of  two  parallel  rail-fences,  filled  up  between  with  hay. 
Some  reinforcements  arrived  just  as  the  battle  was  about  to  begin, 
raising  the  number  of  the  provincials  to  nearly  fifteen  hundred, 


BATTLE    OF    BUNKER    HILL.  49 

Generals  Pomeroy  and  Warren  both  joined  the  combatants  almost 
at  the  moment  of  engagement,  but  declined  to  fight  except  as  volun- 
teers. Consequently  Col.  Prescott  continued  in  command.  Putnam, 
though  absent  during  the  morning,  was  present  when  the  crisis 
came,  and  by  his  voice  and  example  contributed  materially  to  the 
glory  of  the  day. 

Two  plans  were  proposed  to  dislodge  the  Americans.  Clinton 
would  have  landed  at  Charlestown  Neck,  and  by  interposing  between 
the  detachment  on  Breed's  Hill  and  the  main  army,  compelled  the 
surrender  of  the  former.  But  Howe  advocated  a  bolder  plan.  He 
proposed  to  storm  the  entrenchments  in  front.  As  this  was  more 
agreeable  to  the  pride  of  the  English,  and  to  the  contempt  in  which 
they  held  their  enemy,  it  was  finally  adopted.  A  little  after  noon, 
accordingly,  Howe  crossed  the  river  with  ten  companies  of  grena- 
diers, as  many  of  light  infantry,  and  a  proportionate  number  of 
artillery.  Having  reconnoitered  the  redoubt,  he  thought  proper  to 
delay  his  attack  until  he  had  sent  for  reinforcements.  It  was  three 
o'clock  before  he  began  to  move  up  the  hill,  which  he  did  slowly, 
his  artillery  playing  as  he  advanced.  The  Americans,  meanwhile, 
withheld  their  fire.  "  Do  not  pull  a  trigger  until  you  can  see  their 
waistbands,"  said  Putnam.  Volley  after  volley  poured  from  the 
British  ranks :  but  there  was  no  reply  from  the  Americans ;  the  silence 
of  death  hung  over  their  line.  Some  of  the  English  began  to  think 
the  colonists  did  not  intend  to  fight.  But  a  glittering  array  of  mus- 
kets, projecting  from  their  entrenchments,  convinced  the  few  who 
knew  them  better,  otherwise.  "  Do  not  deceive  yourselves,"  said 
one  of  the  bravest  of  the  royal  officers  to  his  companions,  "  when 
these  Yankees  are  silent  in  this  way,  they  mean  something."  At 
last  the  assailants  were  within  eight  rods  of  the  defences.  Suddenly 
a  solitary  musket  blazed  from  the  redoubt.  It  was  the  signal  for  a 
thousand  others  which  went  off  in  irregular  succession ;  a  scattering 
fire  first  rolling  down  the  line,  and  then  returning ;  after  which  fol- 
lowed an  explosion  from  the  whole  front,  as  if  a  volcano  had  burst 
forth.  Each  colonist  had  taken  deliberate  aim.  The  effect  was 
terrific.  The  English  rank  and  file  went  down  like  grain  beaten  by 
a  tempest.  For  an  instant  those  who  remained  unhurt  stopped,  and 
v  gazed  around  as  if  unable  to  comprehend  this  sudden  and  unexpect- 
ed carnage  :  then,  as  the  fire  of  the  Americans,  which  had  slackened, 
began  again,  they  reeled  wildly  before  it,  broke,  and  fled  down 
the  hill. 

Three  times  the  British  troops  were  led  to  the  assault.  Twice 
they  recoiled,  broken  and  in  dismay.  Between  the  first  and  second 


50  THE  WAR  OF  INDEPENDENCE. 

charge  there  was  but  a  slight  pause  :  the  troops  were  rallied  almost  im- 
mediately and  led  to  the  charge  again.  As  they  advanced,  the  town  of 
Charlestown  was  fired  at  the  suggestion  of  Howe,  that  officer  hoping 
that  the  smoke  would  conceal  an  attack  intended  to  be  made  simulta- 
neously on  the  southern  side  of  the  redoubt.  The  wind,  however,  was 
unfavorable,  and  the  colonists  detected  the  manoeuvre  ;  while  the  sight 
of  the  burning  houses  inflamed  them  to  new  fury.  Again  the  British 
were  suffered  to  approach  within  eight  rods:  again  the  colonists 
poured  in  their  deadly  fire  :  again  the  assailants  broke  and  fled,  this 
time  in  utter  confusion,  and  in  such  wild  terror  that  many  did  not  stop 
until  they  reached  the  boats.  Half  an  hour  now  elapsed  before  the 
courage  of  the  British  soldiers  could  be  re-animated.  At  last,  Clinton 
arrived  to  succor  Howe.  The  troops  were  now  rallied  and  led  once 
more  to  the  attack,  with  orders,  this  time,  to  carry  the  redoubt  by 
the  bayonet.  The  fate  of  the  third  assault  would  probably  not 
have  differed  from  that  of  the  two  others,  had  not  the  ammunition 
of  the  colonists  become  exhausted.  After  a  fruitless  struggle,  hand 
to  hand,  they  were  forced  from  the  redoubt.  Finding  the  day  lost, 
a  general  retreat  was  ordered.  It  was  during  this  retreat  that  the 
chief  loss  of  the  Americans  occurred.  After  performing  prodigies 
of  valor,  the  provincials  made  good  their  escape  over  Charlestown 
Neck,  leaving  the  enemy  masters  of  the  field. 

But  it  was  a  dearly  bought  victory  for  the  King.  The  number 
of  killed  and  wounded  in  the  royal  army  was  fifteen  hundred ; 
while  that  of  the  Americans  was  but  little  over  four  hundred. 
Though  the  possession  of  the  field  remained  with  the  British, 
the  moral  effect  of  the  day  was  on  the  side  of  the  provin- 
cials. That  a  comparatively  small  body  of  ill-disciplined  militia 
should  hold  in  check  a  force  of  regular  troops  twice  their  number, 
was  something  new  in  military  annals,  and  proved  that  the  people 
capable  of  doing  this  were  not  to  be  despised  as  foes.  From  that 
day  the  English  no  longer  scorned  their  enemy.  Nor  was  the 
effect  of  the  battle  less  powerful  in  Europe.  Military  men  saw  at 
once  that,  however  protracted  the  strife  might  be,  the  victory  must 
at  last  rest  with  the  Americans.  The  whole  continent  gazed  with 
surprise  on  this  new  and  striking  spectacle.  Nowhere  in  the  old 
world  did  there  exist  a  country,  the  common  people  of  which  were 
capable  of  such  heroic  deeds.  No  European  peasantry  would  have 
ventured  to  assume  so  bold  an  attitude,  or  to  have  defended  it  so 
obstinately.  The  battle  of  Bunker  Hill  revealed  a  new  social  prob- 
lem. It  was  as  if  a  thunder-bolt  had  burst  over  astonished  Europe ; 
and  men  stood  in  silent  wonder  and  amazement,  which  increased 


PROCEEDINGS    OF    CONGRESS.  51 

as  the  storm  rolled  darker  to  the  zenith,  and  the  firmament  quaked 
with  new  explosions. 

Meantime  Congress  had  met  on  the  appointed  day,  the  10th  of 
May,  when  the  news  of  the  battle  of  Lexington  being  laid  officially 
before  them,  they  resolved  unanimously  that  the  colonies  should  be 
put  in  a  state  of  defence.  They  issued  instructions  to  procure  pow- 
der ;  passed  a  resolution  to  equip  twenty  thousand  men ;  and,  in  order 
to  meet  the  necessary  expenses,  emitted  bills  of  credit  for  which  the 
faith  of  the  united  colonies  was  pledged.  They  now  proceeded  to  the 
choice  of  a  commander  in  chief.  The  New  England  states  were 
anxious  that  one  of  their  officers  should  be  selected,  but  the  more  south- 
ern colonies  regarded  this  proposal  with  disfavor.  In  this  emergency 
John  Adams  suggested  Col.  George  Washington,  of  Virginia,  then 
a  member  of  the  Congress,  and  favorably  known  for  his  moderation, 
sound  judgment,  and  military  skill.  The  vote  in  his  favor  was 
unanimous.  On  being  notified  of  the  result,  Washington  made  a 
few  modest,  yet  dignified  remarks.  He  expressed  his  unworthiness 
for  the  task,  and  begged  the  Congress  to  remember,  in  case  of  any 
failures  on  his  part,  that  he  had  forewarned  them  of  his  incapacity 
He  finished  by  declaring  that,  since  no  pecuniary  consideration 
could  induce  him  to  abandon  his  domestic  ease  and  enter  this  ardu- 
ous career,  he  did  not  wish  to  derive  any  profit  from  it,  and  would 
therefore  accept  no  pay. 

The  Congress  next  proceeded  to  issue  a  manifesto,  justifying 
themselves  before  the  world  for  the  part  they  were  taking.  They 
-  also  voted  a  letter  to  the  English  people,  an  address  to  the 
King,  and  an  epistle  to  the  Irish  nation.  They  resolved  fur- 
ther to  thank  the  city  of  London  for  the  countenance  that  she 
had  shown  them,  as  also  to  address  the  people  of  Canada,  and 
invite  them  to  make  common  cause  against  Great  Britain.  All 
these  various  documents  were  distinguished  by  a  moderation  and 
dignity  which  won  the  most  favorable  opinions  among  the  conti- 
nental nations  of  Europe.  The  Congress  also  undertook  measures 
to  secure  the  neutrality  of  the  Indian  tribes,  and  counteract  the 
machinations  of  Sir  George  Carleton,  Governor  of  Canada,  who  was 
intriguing  to  arm  them  against  the  defenceless  frontier.  A  general 
fast  day  was  appointed,  and  it  was  considered  a  favorable  emen 
that  Georgia,  which  had  hitherto  been  unrepresented  in  Congress, 
joined  the  league  of  the  other  colonies  on  the  day  fixed  for  this 
religious  observance.  Massachusetts  was  advised  to  form  a  govern- 
ment for  herself,  which  was  accordingly  done :  and  her  example 
was  speedily  followed  by  New  Hampshire,  Virginia  and  Pennsylva- 


52  THE  WAR  OP  INDEPENDENCE. 

nia.  The  Congress  then  devoted  itself  to  the  task  of  drawing  up 
articles  of  federation,  which  should  bind  the  colonies  during  the  war  : 
these  being  prepared,  somewhat  on  the  plan  of  the  subsequent  con- 
stitution, were  accepted  by  all  the  colonies  except  North  Carolina. 
In  short,  matters  were  daily  tending  towards  a  formal  separation  of 
the  provinces  from  the  mother  country,  the  necessity  for  such  a  de- 
termination hourly  becoming  more  irresistible ;  and  the  convictions 
of  a  few  leading  minds,  moving  with  an  accelerated  speed  in  that 
direction,  soon  gathered  around  them  the  mass  of  the  public  senti- 
ment, and  hurried  it  impetuously  to  the  same  conclusion. 

Washington  lost  no  time  in  repairing  to  the  army  at  Cam- 
bridge, which  Congress  had  already  adopted  as  its  own.  Here 
he  found  everything  in  confusion.  The  troops  were  rather  a 
mob  of  enthusiastic  patriots  than  a  body  of  efficient  soldiery. 
There  was  no  pretence  of  discipline  in  the  camp.  The  men 
elected  their  own  officers,  and  consequently  did  very  much  as 
they  pleased.  Their  terms  of  enlistment  were  so  short,  that  they 
had  scarcely  time  to  learn  the  routine  of  a  soldier's  duty,  before  their 
period  expired,  and  they  returned  to  their  homes.  There  was  little 
powder  in  the  country,  much  less  at  camp.  Added  to  this  there 
existed  an  almost  universal  dissatisfaction  among  the  higher  officers 
at  the  Congressional  appointments  of  Major  and  Brigadier  Generals : 
a  result  inevitable,  since  all  could  not  be  gratified,  and  whoever  was 
neglected  was  sure  to  complain.  An  ordinary  man  would  have 
shrunk  at  once  from  this  complication  of  difficulties.  But  Washing- 
ton set  himself  judiciously,  yet  firmly  to  correct  these  evils.  Nor  did 
he  wholly  fail.  Jealousies  were  removed  :  discipline  was  strength- 
ened ;  and  munitions  of  war  were  provided ;  but  the  main  evil,  the 
short  enlistment  of  troops,  could  not  be  corrected  in  consequence  of 
the  jealousy  of  Congress  against  a  standing  army.  It  was  not  until 
later,  when  the  country  rocked  on  the  very  abyss  of  ruin,  that  Wash- 
ington's representations  prevailed,  and  an  earnest  effort  was  made 
to  enlist  soldiers  for  the  war. 

Meantime  the  siege  of  Boston  was  continued  with  unabated  vigor 
Congress  had  placed  the  army  establishment  at  twenty  thousand  men; 
and  nearly  that  number  of  troops  now  environed  the  hostile  town.  On 
the  sea  the  colonies  were  not  less  active.  Vessels  had  been  fitted  out 
by  the  different  provinces,  which  distinguished  themselves  by  their  ac- 
tivity in  preying  upon  British  commerce.  In  this  way  numerous  valu- 
able prizes  were  taken  at  a  considerable  distance  from  the  coast,  while 
ships,  laden  with  provisions  and  munitions  for  the  English  army, 
were  almost  daily  captured.  In  retaliation,  the  enemy  began  to 


LEE  SENT  TO  FORTIFY  NEW  YORK. 


53 


SIEGE   OF   BOSTON. 


commit  depredations  on  the  coast.  Frequent  skirmishes  occurred  in 
consequence,  in  which  the  colonists  were  not  always  worsted.  This 
induced  one  act,  at  least,  unworthy  of  the  British  name.  About  the 
middle  of  October,  the  town  of  Falmouth,  in  Massachusetts,  was 
bombarded  and  reduced  to  ashes,  as  a  punishment  for  some  of  its 
inhabitants  having  molested  a  ship  laden  with  the  effects  of  loyalists. 
The  horrors  of  civil  war  were  now  beginning  to  be  felt. 

Congress  had  desired  that  Boston  might  be  stormed,  and  Wash- 
ington appears  to  have  entertained  the  same  wish,  but  a  council 
of  war  decided  against  the  measure,  as  calculated  to  risk  too 
much.  In  the  meanwhile  intelligence  was  received  of  a  secret 
expedition  on  the  part  of  the  British,  under  the  command  of 
Sir  Henry  Clinton ;  and  fearing  it  might  be  directed  against  New 
York,  Major  General  Lee  was  despatched  to  fortify  that  city,  and 
on  his  way,  to  raise  troops  in  Connecticut  for  its  defence.  At  New 
York  it  was  discovered  that  Clinton's  destination  was  the  South,  and 
at  the  request  of  Congress,  Lee  followed  him  thither.  In  another 
place  we  shall  speak  of  the  gallant  repulse  which  the  ememy's  ex- 
pedition met.  Leaving  the  army  around  Boston,  to  watch  the 
straitened  foe,  and  wait  the  coming  in  of  the  ever  memorable  year 

E* 


54  THE   WAR  OF  INDEPENDENCE. 

1776,  let  us  now  retrace  our  steps  to  the  preceding  September,  in 
order  to  carry  on,  in  an  unbroken  series  from  its  commencement,  the 
narrative  of  the  war  in  Canada. 

Congress  had  early  adopted  the  idea  that  the  assistance  of  Canada 
was  necessary  to  success  in  the  contest  against  the  parent  state.  The 
refusal  of  the  Canadians  to  side  with  England,  though  in  reality  pro- 
ceeding from  indifference  to  either  party,  was  interpreted  as  a  proof  of 
secret  affection  to  the  colonial  cause.  Accordingly,  one  of  the  earliest 
measure  of  Congress  was  to  send  an  address  to  the  Canadians,  backed 
by  an  armed  force  to  act  against  the  British  authority.  The  command 
of  this  expedition  was  entrusted  to  Generals  Schuyler  and  Montgom- 
ery, but  the  former  falling  sick,  the  latter  obtained  the  sole  direction  of 
the  enterprize.  He  was  admirably  fitted  for  his  task,  and  advanced 
with  rapidity.  On  the  10th  of  September,  the  Americans  landed  at 
St.  John's,  the  first  British  post  in  Canada  :  and  in  a  short  time,  with 
but  one  slight  check,  they  had  taken  Fort  Chamblee,  St.  John's,  and 
Montreal ;  driving  Sir  George  Carleton  a  fugitive  to  Quebec. 

Simultaneously  with  the  expedition  under  Montgomery,  which 
had  advanced  by  the  usual  route  of  Lake  Champlain,  another  expedi- 
tion, commanded  by  Arnold,  and  despatched  by  Washington,  was 
penetrating  to  Canada  through  the  wilds  of  Maine.  Never  was  a  more 
difficult  enterprize  undertaken,  or  an  apparent  impossibility  so  gallant- 
ly overcome.  Through  trackless  forests,  across  rugged  hills,  over  rivers 
full  of  rapids,  the  little  army  made  its  way,  often  without  food,  more 
often  without  rest,  and  frequently  drenched  to  the  skin  for  days.  In 
six  weeks  the  expedition  reached  Canada.  It  burst  on  the  aston- 
ished enemy,  as  if  it  had  risen  suddenly  from  the  earth ;  and  in  the 
first  moments  of  consternation  Quebec  had  nearly  become  its  prey. 
But  the  enemy  having  been  treacherously  informed  of  Arnold's  ap- 
proach, had  made  themselves  ready  to  receive  him;  and  he  was  forced 
to  abandon  the  enterprise  at  present.  On  the  first  of  December,  how- 
ever, the  forces  of  Montgomery  and  Arnold  were  united,  and  they 
resolved  now  to  undertake  together  what  Arnold  had  found  himself 
incompetent  to  achieve  alone.  On  the  31st,  they  made  their  com- 
bined attack  on  that  celebrated  fortress.  Montgomery  gained  the 
heights  of  Abraham,  but  fell  almost  in  the  arms  of  victory ;  and  on 
this  fatal  event,  the  troops  under  him  retreated.  Arnold  made  an 
attack  on  the  other  side  of  the  town,  but  was  wounded  in  the  leg  at 
the  first  onset,  and  carried  off  the  field :  the  darkness  of  the  morning 
prevented  Morgan,  who  succeeded  in  the  command,  from  pursuing 
the  advantages  he  at  first  gained,  and  in  the  end  that  gallant  officer, 


CANADA    ABANDONED    BY    THE    AMERICANS. 


with  his  riflemen,  was  captured.     Thus  the  attack,  on  all  sides,  was 
repulsed. 

The  subsequent  story  of  the  war  in  Canada  is  soon  told.  On 
the  death  of  Montgomery,  Arnold  succeeded  to  the  chief  com- 
mand, and  besieged  Quebec ;  but  the  small-pox  appeared  among 
his  troops,  and  though  he  was  reinforced,  the  breaking  up  of 
the  ice  in  the  succeeding  May,  enabling  the  English  fleet  to 
ascend  the  St.  Lawrence,  compelled  him  to  retire.  Meantime, 
the  prejudices  of  the  Canadians  had  been  aroused  against  the  Ameri- 
cans, partly  in  consequence  of  the  indiscretions  of  our  troops,  so  that 
instead  of  finding  the  people  their  friends,  they  discovered  in  them 
irreconcilable  enemies.  By  the  end  of  May,  the  British  force  in 
Canada  amounted  to  thirteen  thousand  men.  To  continue,  it  was 
wisely  judged,  would  be  to  play  a  losing  game,  and  invite  almost 
certain  destruction.  Accordingly,  on  the  15th  of  June,  1776,  Gen- 
eral Sullivan,  who  had  been  sent  meantime  to  take  the  command, 
abandoned  Montreal,  and  led  his  army  back  to  Crown  Point,  with 
comparative  little  loss.  The  enemy  did  not,  at  that  time,  follow  the 


56  THE  WAR  OF  INDEPENDENCE. 

receding  wave,  but  in  the  succeeding  year,  as  we  shall  find,  poured 
his  advancing  tide  on  the  track  of  the  fugitives. 

Meanwhile,  in  England,  preparations  had  been  making  to  carry 
on  the  war  with  an  energy  that  should  at  once  put  down, 
all  further  opposition.  General  Howe  was  to  be  sent  out  to 
supercede  Gage,  and  Lord  Howe  was  to  accompany  his  brother 
with  a  fleet.  As  great  difficulty,  however,  existed  in  enlist- 
ing a  sufficient  number  of  recruits  in  England,  overtures  were 
made,  at  first  to  Russia,  and  subsequently  to  Holland,  to  furnish 
soldiers,  Great  Britain  to  pay  a  fixed  premium  per  head.  In  both 
cases  the  application  failed.  Some  of  the  lesser  German  principali- 
ties were,  however,  found,  at  last,  to  consent  that  their  soldiers 
should  enter  a  foreign  service.  In  this  manner  seventeen  thousand 
Hessians  were  procured.  The  intelligence  of  this  event  was  received 
in  America  with  almost  universal  horror  and  detestation,  and  con- 
tributed materially  to  increase  the  exasperation  of  the  colonies,  and 
hasten  their  separation  from  the  mother  country. 

With  this  force  of  Hessians,  and  an  additional  one  of  nearly 
thirty  thousand  native  born  soldiers,  the  British  government  pre- 
pared to  open  the  campaign  of  1776.  The  ministry  was  the 
more  active  in  its  exertions,  because  desirous  of  striking  some 
decisive  blow  before  France  should  join  in  the  quarrel;  for 
already  it  was  foreseen  that  jealousy  of  her  ancient  rival  would 
induce  that  power  to  assist  America,  as  soon  as  convinced  that  a 
reconciliation  was  impossible.  With  these  extensive  prepara- 
tions, however,  conciliation  was  not  forgotten,  arid  it  was  resolved 
to  send  out  commissioners  to  America  to  grant  individual  amnesties, 
and  to  declare  a  colony,  or  colonies  restored  to  its  allegiance  to  the 
King,  and  therefore  to  be  exempt  from  the  hostility  of  the  royal 
troops.  It  was  hoped  in  this  manner  to  seduce  a  portion  of  the  pro- 
vincials back  to  loyalty,  and  thus  break  the  combined  strength  of 
the  whole.  The  two  Howes  were  named  as  these  commissioners. 

While  these  preparations  were  making  in  England,  in  America 
things  were  hastening  to  a  crisis.  The  year  opened  with  an  un- 
diminished  enthusiasm  on  the  part  of  the  continental  army  besieging 
Boston.  The  royal  garrison  suffered  greatly  for  provisions.  Before 
the  end  of  February,  Washington  found  himself  at  the  head  of  four- 
teen thousand  men.  He  had  long  wished  to  attack  Boston,  but  had 
been  overruled  by  his  council  of  officers ;  now,  however,  he  resolved 
to  commence  offensive  operations  without  delay.  He  accordingly 
determined  to  occupy  Dorchester  Heights,  which  commanded  Boston 
on  the  south.  On  the  4th  of  March,  1776,  the  contemplated  works 


ATTACK    UPON    CHARLESTON.  57 

were  begun,  under  cover  of  a  heavy  fire  from  the  American  battery 
on  the  British  lines.  Howe,  who  had  meantime  arrived  to  supercede 
Gage,  no  sooner  saw  these  fortifications  rising  on  his  right,  than  he 
resolved  to  dislodge  the  Americans ;  and  everything  had  been  pre- 
pared for  the  assault,  when  a  storm  suddenly  arose  and  prevented 
the  conflict.  The  continentals,  in  the  meantime,  finished  their 
works,  which  Howe  now  considered  too  strong  to  render  an  attack 
advisable.  To  remain  longer  in  Boston,  with  Dorchester  heights  in 
possession  of  Washington,  was  impossible  for  the  English  General. 
Accordingly,  he  resolved  to  evacuate  the  place ;  and  Washington, 
on  receiving  notice  of  his  intenton,  agreed  not  to  molest  him.  The 
evacuation  was  perfected  on  the  17th  of  March,  on  which  day  the 
inhabitants  beheld  with  joy  the  British  departing,  the  whole  harbor 
being  dotted  with  the  transports  that  bore  away  the  foe.  Large 
numbers  of  loyalists  followed  the  retreating  army  to  Halifax.  The 
Americans  entered  the  evacuated  city  with  rejoicings,  and  immedi- 
ately proceeded  to  fortify  it ;  after  which  Washington  moved  the 
main  portion  of  his  force  in  the  direction  of  New  York,  where  he 
foresaw  the  next  attempt  of  the  English  would  be  made. 

We  have  intimated  before  that  Gen.  Lee,  who  had  at  first  been 
despatched  to  fortify  New  York,  had  subsequently  been  sent  to  the 
Southern  States,  where  it  was  expected  a  descent  would  be  made 
by  the  English,  at  the  instigation  of  the  royalists,  who,  though  less 
numerous  than  the  whigs,  were  in  considerable  force  there.  As  the 
spring  advanced  it  became  nearly  certain  that  Charleston  was  the  pro- 
jected point  of  attack.  Accordingly,  measures  were  taken  to  strength- 
en the  harbor  and  place  the  town  in  a  state  of  defence.  Among  other 
things,  Sullivan's  Island,  six  miles  below  the  city,  was  fortified,  as  it 
was  placed  in  a  favorable  position  to  command  the  channel.  These 
hasty  preparations  had  scarcely  been  completed  when  the  expected 
English  fleet  arrived  off  the  coast.  The  squadron  was  under  the 
command  of  Sir  Peter  Parker,  and  comprised  two  vessels  of  fifty 
guns  each,  four  of  twenty-eight,  one  of  twenty-two,  one  of  twenty, 
and  two  of  eight.  Besides  this,  there  were  nearly  forty  transports, 
containing  three  thousand  land  forces,  under  the  command  of 
Clinton.  On  the  25th  of  June,  the  English  fleet  advanced  to  the 
attack  of  the  fort  on  Sullivan's  Island ;  Clinton,  at  the  same  time, 
intending  to  disembark  on  the  neighboring  island  of  Long  Island, 
and  assail  the  fort  on  land.  But  a  succession  of  easterly  winds  had 
so  deepened  the  channel  between  Sullivan's  Island  and  Long  Island, 
that  Clinton  found  it  impossible  to  ford  it,  and  was  compelled  to 
abandon  his  part  of  the  attack.  The  fleet  nevertheless  persisted. 
8 


THE   WAR  OP  INDEPENDENCE. 


ADMIRAL  SIR  PETER  PARKER. 


Three  of  the  frigates,  however,  ran  aground,  and  could  not  take  up 
the  positions  assigned  them.  The  others,  nevertheless,  gallantly 
began  the  combat,  which,  for  some  hours,  raged  with  awful  fury. 
Never  were  greater  prodigies  of  valor  performed  than  on  that  day 
in  the  American  fort.  The  city  was  in  full  sight  across  the  water, 
and  the  inhabitants  gazed  anxiously  on  the  spectacle.  From  ten 
o'clock  in  the  morning  until  after  twilight,  the  combat  was  main- 
tained on  both  sides  with  fury :  the  English  firing  shot  and  shells 
incessantly,  the  Americans  replying  from  their  guns  with  deliberate 
and  deadly  aim.  All  day  the  sky  was  black  with  bombs,  whirling  and 
hissing  as  they  flew :  all  day  the  roar  and  blaze  of  artillery  deafened 


DECLARATION  OF  INDEPENDENCE.  59 

the  ears  and  blinded  the  sight  of  the  thousands  of  spectators.  Many  of 
the  British  vessels  were  almost  cut  to  pieces ;  their  crews  suffered  terri- 
bly. Night  came,  but  still  the  strife  continued.  Fiery  missives  crossed 
and  re-crossed  the  heavens ;  the  smoke  that  lay  along  the  water 
grew  lurid  in  the  darkness.  At  last  the  firing  slackened.  By  eleven 
at  night  the  fleet  slipped  cables  and  retired  out  of  range  of  the  fort. 
The  next  morning,  one  of  the  royal  ships,  the  Acteon,  which  had 
grounded  and  could  not  be  carried  off,  was  set  on  fire  and  deserted, 
on  which  she  blew  up.  Seven  thousand  balls,  picked  up  on  the 
island  after  the  engagement,  evinced  the  fury  of  the  attack.  When 
we  consider  that  the  American  force  consisted  of  less  than  four  hun- 
dred regulars,  with  a  few  volunteer  militia,  we  begin  fully  to  com- 
prehend the  greatness  of  the  victory,  which  indeed  was  the  Bunker 
Hill  of  the  South.  The  loss  of  the  British  was  two  hundred  and 
twenty-two,  that  of  the  Americans  thirty -two.  The  fort  was  subse- 
quently called  Fort  Moultrie,  in  honor  of  Colonel  Moultrie,  who 
commanded  at  the  island  during  the  battle.  General  Lee,  who  had 
posted  himself  nearer  the  city,  not  expecting  the  real  struggle  to 
occur  at  the  fort,  was  only  present  once  during  the  fight,  having 
visited  the  island  to  cheer  the  troops.  After  his  repulse,  Sir  Peter 
Parker  sailed  for  Sandy  Hook ;  Clinton,  with  his  land  forces  accom- 
panying him  :  and  several  years  elapsed  before  the  English  made  a 
second  assault  on  the  South,  the  history  of  which  attempt,  in  due 
time  will  form  a  chapter  by  itself. 

During  the  winter  the  public  feeling  in  America  had  been  growing 
more  and  more  favorable  to  a  total  separation*  of  the  colonies  from 
the  mother  country.  Many  able  writers  of  essays  and  pamphlets, 
which  were  circulated  extensively,  had  contributed  to  bring  about 
this  result.  Among  others,  an  Englishman  named  Thomas  Paine, 
had  rendered  himself  conspicuous  by  a  pamphlet  entitled  "  Common 
Sense,"  which  demonstrated  the  benefits,  practicability  and  necessity 
of  independence,  and  with  great  vigor  of  language  and  force  of 
invective,  assailed  monarchical  governments.  Congress,  mean- 
time, approached  "nearer  and  nearer  to  independence,  by  passing 
laws  more  and  more  irreconcilable  with  allegiance.  Thus,  in  May, 
reprisals  were  authorized,  and  the  American  ports  opened  to  the 
whole  world  except  England.  At  last,  on  the  7th  of  June,  Richard 
Henry  Lee,  one  of  the  delegates  from  Virginia,  submitted  a  resolu- 
tion in  Congress  declaring  the  colonies  free  and  independent  states. 
A  series  of  animated  and  eloquent  debates  ensued.  The  wealthy 
state  of  Pennsylvania  long  hesitated,  though  finally  she  gave  her 
consent.  The  original  draft  of  the  memorable  document,  called 


60 


THE  WAR  OF  INDEPENDENCE. 


INDEPENDENCE  HALL. 


the  Declaration  of  Independence,  was  from  the  pen  of  Thomas  Jef- 
ferson. On  its  adoption  it  was  ordered  to  be  engrossed  and  signed 
by  every  member  of  the  Congress.  The  resolution  in  favor  of  inde- 
pendence was  finally  passed  on  the  2nd  of  July,  and  the  form  of  the 
declaration  agreed  to  on  the  4th.  Custom  has  since  observed  the 
latter  day  as  a  public  festival,  a  proceeding  which  John  Adams  pro- 
phetically foretold:  "I  am  apt  to  believe," 'he  wrote  to  his  wife, 
"  that  this  day  will  be  celebrated  by  succeeding  generations  as  a 
great  anniversary  festival.  It  ought  to  be  commemorated  as  a  day 
of  deliverance,  by  solemn  acts  of  devotion  to  God  Almighty.  It 
ought  to  be  solemnized  with  pomp  and  parade,  with  shows,  games, 
sports,  guns,  bells,  bonfires  and  illuminations,  from  one  end  of  this 
continent  to  the  other,  from  this  time  forward,  forevermore." 

The  Declaration  of  Independence  was  hailed  with  general  enthusi- 
asm, both  in  the  army,  and  by  the  people  at  large.  Men  felt  that 
the  day  of  reconciliation  had  passed,  that  any  compromise  with 
England  would  have  been  hollow,  and  that  the  time  had  come  to 


WASHINGTON     VT    NEW    YORK. 


61 


throw  away  the  scabbard,  and  delude  themselves  no  longer  with 
false  hopes  of  peace.  For  more  than  a  year  the  provinces  had  vir- 
tually been  in  a  state  of  independence.  It  was  but  proper,  therefore 
to  cast  oif  disguise,  and  assume  before  the  world  the  station  they 
really  held.  If  a  few  timorous  souls  drew  back  in  terror  from  the 
act,  and  others  continued  to  deceive  themselves  with  idle  hopes  of 
a  reconciliation,  the  great  body  of  the  people  neither  entertained 
such  notions,  nor  shrank  from  assuming  the  required  responsibility. 


:  1  1« 


COMMITTEE  PBESEN7ING  THE  DECLARATION  OF  INDEPENDENCE  TO  COXGKESS. 


The  enthusiasm  of  the  country  was  now,  perhaps,  at  its  highest 
point.  Success  hitherto  had  crowned  nearly  every  effort  of  the  colo- 
nists. Boston  had  fallen,  the  English  were  repulsed  from  Charleston, 
independence  had  been  declared.  But  a  new  scene  was  now  about 
to  open.  A  period  of  disaster,  and  gloom,  and  despair,  was  to  suc- 
ceed, ending  at  last  in  the  apparently  inevitable  necessity  of  an  uncon- 
ditional surrender.  The  dark  days  of  the  Revolution  were  at  hand. 
As  the  curtain  rises,  the  shadows  lengthen. 

Meanwhile,  Washington  had  taken  up  his  position  at  New  York, 

where  he  found  that  Putnam,  the  successor  of  Lee,  had  constructed  a 

i 


62  THE   WAR  OP  INDEPENDENCE. 

chain  of  works.  On  the  25th  of  June,  General  Howe  made  his  expect- 
ed appearance  off  Sandy  Hook.  His  brother,  Admiral  Howe,  arrived 
at  the  same  place  on  the  12th  of  July :  and  shortly  afterwards  Clin- 
ton joined  them  from  the  South,  bringing  the  three  thousand  troops 
repulsed  at  Charleston.  The  whole  force  of  the  British  army,  thus 
collected  off  New  York,  was  twenty-four  thousand  men.  Before 
commencing  hostilities,  however,  Lord  Howe,  as  instructed  by  the 
ministry,  addressed  a  circular  letter  to  the  chief  magistrates  of  the 
colonies,  acquainting  them  with  his  powers,  and  desiring  them  to 
publish  the  same  for  the  information  of  the  people.  Congress, 
conscious  of  possessing  the  popular  affections,  treated  the  commis- 
sioners with  contempt,  by  sending  Howe's  documents  to  General 
Washington,  to  be  proclaimed  to  the  army,  and  ordering  them  also 
to  be  published  in  the  newspapers.  Lord  Howe,  about  this  time, 
attempted  to  open  a  correspondence  with  General  Washington,  by 
addressing  him  as  George  Washington,  Esq.,  but  the  commander-in- 
chief,  determining  not  to  compromise  his  own  dignity,  or  that  of 
Congress,  refused  to  receive  any  letter  on  public  business,  in  which 
he  was  not  addressed  by  his  official  titles. 

Preparations  were  now  made  by  the  British  for  their  long  contem- 
plated assault  on  New  York:  but,  prior  to  this,  it  was  deemed 
advisable  to  dislodge  the  Americans  from  their  position  on  Long 
Island,  opposite  the  city.  The  works  here  consisted  of  a  fortification 
at  Brooklyn,  well  defended  on  the  left  by  the  East  River,  on  the 
right  by  the  bay,  and  behind  by  the  harbor  and  Governor's  Island. 
In  front  of  this  fortification  was  an  open  plain,  crossed  by  three 
great  roads  diverging  from  Brooklyn,  and  passing  over  a  chain  of 
wooded  hills  at  some  distance  from  the  town.  Each  of  these  roads 
should  have  been  defended,  at  the  point  where  it  crossed  the  hills, 
by  a  sufficiently  numerous  detachment-  to  keep  the  pass  :  but  unfor- 
tunately the  Americans  were  not  strong  enough  for  this,  their  whole 
effective  force  being  but  twenty  thousand  men,  of  which  a  conside- 
rable portion  had  to  be  detained  within  the  lines,  at  Brooklyn,  at 
New  York,  and  in  various  other  places.  The  next  best  thing  would 
have  been  to  have  kept  the  main  body  moving  in  front  of  Brooklyn, 
as  on  a  centre,  while  small  parties  should  be  sent  to  occupy  the  three 
passes  through  the  hills,  so  that,  on  notice  being*  received  where  the 
English  intended  to  attack  in  force,  the  Americans  might  be  precipi- 
tated on  that  point.  But,  as  if  fate  was  resolved  on  that  day  to  be 
against  the  colonies,  Gen.  Greene,  to  whom  had  been  confided  the 
works  at  Brooklyn,  fell  sick  two  days  before  the  battle.  Gen.  Put- 
nam was  sent  to  occupy  his  place,  but  owing  to  the  hurry  could 


BATTLE  OF  LONG  ISLAND.  63 

not  fully  make  himself  master  of  the  nature  of  the  ground  in  time  for 
the  attack.  He,  therefore,  posted  but  an  inconsiderable  detachment 
at  the  eastern  pass,  reserving  his  principal  force  to  meet  the  enemy 
at  the  central  and  western  passes,  by  one  of  which  he  supposed  the 
the  main  attack  would  be  made.  Putnam  himself  remained,  during 
the  day,  within  the  entrenchments  at  Brooklyn.  Sullivan  had  com- 
mand of  all  the  troops  without,  and  was  posted  on  the  plain,  just 
within  the  central  pass,  where  the  road  from  Flatbush  to  Brooklyn 
traverses  the  hills. 

It  was  on  the  morning  of  the  28th  of  August,  that  the  battle  began. 
Early  on  the  evening  before,  Gen.  Clinton,  who  had  been  posted 
with  the  centre  of  the  British  army  at  Flatbush,  discovered  the 
weakness  of  the  American  forces  at  the  eastern  pass,  and  silently 
drew  off  in  that  direction,  intending  there  to  make  the  main  attack. 
In  the  meantime,  by  way  of  a  feint,  General  Grant,  with  the  British 
left  wing,  was  directed  to  advance  against  the  Americans  by  the 
western  pass.  Accordingly,  abaut  three  o'clock  in  the  morning,  he 
made  the  attack,  which  Lord  Stirling,  at  the  head  of  fifteen  hundred 
Americans,  prepared  to  resist.  Grant,  however,  who  had  no  wish  to 
rout  his  opponent,  contented  himself  with  amusing  Stirling,  until  he 
should  hear  of  the  success  of  Clinton's  intended  movement  to  get  be- 
tween the  main  body  of  the  Americans  and  Brooklyn.  General  de 
Heister,  who  commmanded  the  British  centre,  manoeuvred  meanwhile 
in  front  of  the  middle  pass,  not  wishing  to  advance  in  earnest  until 
Clinton  should  carry  his  point :  but,  in  order  to  deceive,  he  began  at 
sunrise  a  distant  cannonade  on  the  redoubt  opposite  him,  where 
General  Sullivan,  with  the  main  body  of  our  troops,  was  stationed. 
Thus,  two  portions  of  the  British  army  combined  to  amuse  theii 
opponents,  \vhile  a  third  was  insidiously  stealing  into  their  rear. 

Had  the  detachment  posted  to  watch  the  eastern  route  been  active 
and  brave,  no  surprise  would  have  taken  place.  But  Clinton, 
arriving  at  the  pass  before  day,  captured  the  whole  party  before 
they  had  even  suspected  his  approach,  and  immediately  crossing  the 
hills,  he  poured  his  splendid  legions  into  the  plain  below,  and  began 
to  interpose  himself  between  Sullivan  and  Brooklyn.  The  very 
existence  of  America  trembled  in  the  balance  at  that  moment.  But 
fortunately  the  manoeuvre  of  Clinton  was  detected  before  it  was  too 
late.  Sullivan,  discovering  that  Clinton  was  in  his  rear,  began  a 
retreat  to  the  lines,  but  he  had  not  retired  far  before  he  was  met  by 
that  General,  and  forced  back  in  the  direction  of  Heister,  who,  as 
soon  as  made  aware  of  the  success  of  Clinton's  stratagem,  had 
dashed  over  the  hills,  and  impetuously  assailed  the  Americans. 


64  THE   WAR  OF  INDEPENDENCE. 

Thus,  tossed  to  and  fro  between  two  bodies  of  the  enemy,  now 
facing  Heister,  now  retreating  before  Clinton,  the  troops  under  Sul- 
livan, in  spite  of  the  most  desperate  efforts,  during  which  a  portion 
actually  cut  their  way  through  the  foe,  and  escaped  to  Brooklyn, 
were  finally  compelled,  with  their  leader,  to  lay  down  their  arms. 
Lord  Stirling,  whom  we  left  amused  by  Grant,  was  equally  unfor- 
tunate. When  this  last  officer  advanced  in  earnest,  he  was  taken 
prisoner  with  four  hundred  of  his  men,  although  not  until  he  had 
secured  the  retreat  of  the  remainder.  The  victorious  English, 
advancing  with  loud  huzzas  across  the  plains,  drove  what  was  left 
of  the  American  army  within  the  lines,  where  dismay  and  terror 
reigned  universal,  for  an  immediate  assault  was  expected.  Had 
General  Howe  then  yielded  to  the  importunities  of  his  officers,  and 
led  the  excited  soldiers  to  the  charge,  there  is  little  doubt  but  that 
his  victory  would  have  been  complete,  and  the  whole  American 
force  on  the  Long  Island  side  of  the  river  become  his  prey.  But 
his  habitual  prudence  prevailing,  he  ordered  a  halt,  and  commenced 
leisurely  to  break  ground  in  due  form  before  the  entrenchments. 
Washington  availed  himself  of  this  blunder  to  withdraw  from  a  posi- 
tion no  longer  tenable,  and  in  the  night  transported  his  troops,  their 
artillery,  and  all  his  munitions  of  war,  in  safety  to  New  York. 

The  loss  of  the  Americans  in  this  battle  was  over  a  thousand ; 
that  of  the  English  but  three  hundred  and  fifty.  It  was  not  only  in 
its  immediate  effects,  however,  that  the  defeat  was  so  disastrous  ;  the 
remoter  results  were  even  more  injurious  to  the  American  cause. 
The  battle  of  Long  Island  was  the  first  pitched  battle  between  the 
continental  army  and  the  British.  Great,  even  extravagant  expec- 
tations had  been  formed  concerning  the  prowess  of  the  continental 
army ;  and  now,  with  the  versatility  of  the  popular  mind,  despair 
succeeded  to  former  elation.  It  was  thought  impossible  for  Ameri- 
can soldiers  ever  to  be  brought  to  face  the  disciplined  troops  of 
England.  This  sentiment  found  its  way  into  the  camp,  and  pro- 
duced the  most  alarming  desertions.  Added  to  this,  the  men  whose 
terms  began  to  expire,  refused  to  re-enlist.  The  exertions  of  Wash- 
ington and  Lee,  however,  delayed  the  reduction  of  the  army  for  a 
while.  Indeed,  but  for  them,  it  would  have  crumbled  to  pieces  like 
a  fabric  of  ashes  at  the  touch  of  the  hand. 

A  few  days  after  the  battle  of  Long  Island,  Lord  Howe  attempt- 
ed to  open  a  correspondence  with  the  American  Congress,  imagining 
that,  in  the  general  terror,  the  members  would  eagerly  accept  terms 
which  they  would  have  refused  a  few  days  before.  To  have 
declined  hearing  him,  would  have  looked  as  if  that  body  was  insin- 


WASHINGTON    WITHDRAWS    FROM    NEW    YORK. 


65 


cere  in  its  desire  to  terminate  the  war.  Accordingly,  a  committee 
was  appointed  to  wait  on  Lord  Howe.  But  finding  that  he  pos- 
sessed no  power  to  treat,  but  only  to  grant  pardons,  Congress  refused 
to  hold  any  further  correspondence  with  him,  and  this  attempt  at 
reconciliation  proved  as  abortive  as  former  ones. 


LORD   HOWE. 


General  Washington  now  divided  his  army,  leaving  four  thousand 
five  hundred  men  in  the  city  of  New  York,  and  stationing  six  thou- 
sand five  hundred  at  Haerlem,  and  twelve  thousand  at  Kingsbridge. 
He  did  this  in  order  to  prepare  for  an  event  which  he  saw  to  be 
inevitable,  the  ultimate  evacuation  of  New  York.  A  body  of  four 
thousand  men  landing  under  Clinton  at  Kipp's  Bay,  three  miles 
above  the  city,  drove  in  a  detachment  of  American  troops  stationed 
there.  Washington  hurried  to  the  scene,  and  threatened  to  cut 
down  the  panic-struck  soldiers,  but  in  vain,  and  the  affair  ended  in 
an  inglorious  flight.  In  consequence  of  this,  Washington  withdrew 

from  New  York  entirely,  contenting  himself  with  occupying  the 
9  p* 


66  THE  WAR  OF  INDEPENDENCE. 

neighboring  heights.  The  retreat  was  effected  in  good  order,  chiefly 
under  the  direction  of  Putnam. 

General  Washington  now  strove  to  accustom  his  troops  to  face 
the  enemy,  by  engaging  them  in  a  succession  of  skirmishes.  In 
one  of  these  affairs,  on  the  16th  of  September,  the  Americans  gained 
some  advantages ;  but  they  had  to  mourn  the  loss  of  Colonel 
Knowlton  and  Major  Leitch,  two  valuable  officers.  At  last  Wash- 
ington found  it  necessary  to  retreat  from  York  Island,  as  he  had 
already  done  from  the  city  of  New  York.  He  fell  back,  accordingly, 
to  White  Plains,  evacuating  all  his  posts  on  the  island  except  Fort 
Washington,  at  the  upper  end,  where  a  garrison  of  three  thousand 
men  was  left,  it  being  vainly  supposed  that  this  stronghold,  with 
that  of  Fort  Lee,  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  Hudson,  would  enable 
the  Americans  to  retain  the  command  of  the  river. 

As  fast  as  Washington  retired,  the  royal  army  pursued,  until  the 
former  came  to  a  stand  at  White  Plains,  where  he  threw  up 
entrenchments.  Here  he  was  attacked  by  Howe,  on  the  28th  of  Octo- 
ber, and  an  action  ensued,  in  which  several  hundreds  fell :  among 
these  was  the  brave  Colonel  Smallwood,  whose  regiment,  at  Long 
Island,  had  borne  the  brunt  of  the  fight.  In  consequence  of  this 
action,  Washington  took  up  a  new  and  stronger  position,  with  his 
right  wing  resting  on  some  hills.  On  the  30th,  Howe,  who  had 
meantime  waited  for  his  rear  to  come  up,  prepared  to  renew  his 
attack;  but  a  violent  storm  arising,  he  was  forced  to  forego  his 
purpose.  Washington  now  changed  his  station  again,  withdrawing 
to  North  Castle,  about  five  miles  from  White  Plains,  where  he  took 
up  a  position  nearly,  if  not  quite  impregnable.  Thus  finding  the 
prey  escaped,  which  he  had  flattered  himself  was  within  his  grasp, 
Howe  changed  his  plan  of  operations,  and  determined  to  retrace  his 
steps,  and  reduce  Fort  Washington,  in  his  rear.  The  American 
General,  learning  this  purpose,  left  Lee  at  North  Castle  with  a  por- 
tion of  his  force,  and  hastened  to  Fort  Lee,  opposite  the  threatened 
post,  to  watch  his  enemy. 

At  first  it  was  suggested  that  Fort  Washington  should  be  aban- 
doned ;  but  this  counsel  being  overruled,  Colonel  Magaw,  with  a 
garrison  of  nearly  three  thousand  men,  was  left  to  defend  the  place. 
On  the  16th  of  November,  the  British  advanced  to  the  assault,  after 
having  summoned  the  post  and  been  defied.  The  attack  was  vehe- 
ment and  irresistible.  The  Americans  were  driven  from  the  outer 
works,  and  finally  forced  to  surrender  as  prisoners  of  Avar.  The  loss 
of  the  English,  however,  was  severe,  they  suffering  in  round  num- 
bers not  less  than  eight  hundred.  But  this  did  not  compensate  the 


DESPONDENCY    OF    THE    AMERICANS.  67 

Americans  for  the  capture  of  over  two  thousand  of  their  best  troops, 
and  the  moral  effect  of  so  terrible  a  disaster  following  on  the  heels 
of  that  of  Long  Island.  The  attempt  to  hold  the  fort  was  a  mistake, 
for  which  General  Greene  is  principally  chargeable.  In  consequence 
of  its  fall,  Fort  Lee,  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  Hudson,  had  to  be 
evacuated.  This  was  done  in  the  most  gallant  style,  General  Greene 
fully  redeeming  his  late  blunder,  by  bringing  oif  the  army  in  safety, 
although  Cornwallis,  with  six  thousand  victorious  troops,  was  thun- 
dering in  his  rear.  The  retreat,  however,  had  to  be  effected  in  such 
haste  as  to  render  a  sacrifice  of  a  vast  quantity  of  artillery  and  mili- 
tary stores  indispensable;  Greene  having  barely  time  to  escape  with 
his  men  the  moment  he  heard  of  the  loss  of  Fort  Washington,  and 
that  Cornwallis  had  crossed  the  Hudson. 

These  successive  disasters,  following  one  upon  another,  reduced 
the  American  cause  to  the  very  verge  of  ruin.  From  the  period  the 
British  had  landed  on  Long  Island,  a  series  of  misfortunes  had  pur- 
sued the  army  of  Washington.  Every  day  had  seen  his  troops  re- 
tiring before  those  of  the  enemy ;  every  hour  had  beheld  his  force 
dwindling  down;  every  moment  had  witnessed  the  increasing 
despondency  of  the  friends  of  liberty,  both  within  and  without  the 
camp.  The  terms  of  large  numbers  of  the  men  were  now  expiring, 
and  the  consequences  of  these  disasters  begun  to  be  felt.  Few 
would  re-enlist.  The  enthusiasm  which  had  first  called  them  from 
their  homes  had  begun  to  subside  under  the  privations  of  a  camp, 
and  had  now  been  completely  dissipated  by  misfortune.  The  cause 
of  America  was  generally  regarded  as  lost.  This  feeling  of  des- 
pair even  spread  among  the  officers,  and  it  required  all  Washington's 
firmness  of  mind  to  check  its  progress.  But  with  the  common  men 
nothing  could  be  done  to  check  the  panic.  In  vain  did  Congress 
endeavor  to  supply  the  places  of  those  who  retired,  by  new  recruits. 
Even  a  bounty  of  twenty  dollars  to  each  private  who  would  engage 
for  the  war,  failed  to  hasten  enlistments :  and  though  the  offer  was 
subsequently  made  to  all  who  would  contract  for  three  years,  it 
proved  equally  inoperative. 

The  army  of  Washington  by  these  causes :  by  loss  in  battle,  by 
desertion,  by  the  capture  of  Fort  Washington,  and  by  the  expiration 
of  enlistments,  had  now  sunk  to  little  over  three  thousand  men.  The 
British,  aware  of  his  weakness,  and  convinced  that  a  few  decisive 
blows  would  finish  the  war  forever,  resolved  not  to  go  into  winter 
quarters,  but  to  follow  up  their  successes  by  the  pursuit  and  anni- 
hilation of  the  small  force  remaining  in  arms  under  Washing- 
ton. Accordingly,  they  pushed  on  to  Newark,  in  New  Jersey, 


68 


THE   WAR  OF  INDEPENDENCE. 


whither  the  American  commander  had  retired.  At  this,  Washing- 
ton fell  back  to  New  Brunswick.  But  the  enemy  still  followed. 
As  a  last  refuge  he  hurried  to  place  the  Delaware  between  him  and 
his  foe.  On  the  8th  of  December,  he  reached  that  river  and  retired 
across  it,  destroying  the  bridges,  and  removing  all  the  boats,  to 
secure  his  retreat.  Scarcely  had  his  rear  gained  the  welcome  right 
bank,  than  the  English  appeared  on  the  left,  but  finding  no  means 
of  crossing,  they  fell  back  in  chagrin. 


RETREAT   OF  THE   AMERICAS  ARMY  THROUGH   NEW   JERSEY. 


To  add  to  the  despondency  of  the  times,  the  news  was  received, 
about  this  period,  of  the  capture  of  General  Lee,  who  had  been  tar- 
dily approaching  Washington,  in  order  to  effect  a  junction.  Lee 
had  incautiously  spent  the  night  three  miles  from  his  forces,  with 
but  a  small  guard  in  attendance,  when  an  English  cavalry  officer, 
hearing  by  accident  of  his  unprotected  situation,  by  a  bold  dash 
secured  the  valuable  prize.  As  Lee  was  second  in  command  in  the 
army,  and  as  the  country  entertained  a  high  opinion  of  his  abilities, 
his  loss,  at  this  critical  moment,  struck  the  last  prop  from  the  hopes 
of  the  patriots,  and  induced  almost  universal  despair. 

Indeed,  there  was  no  longer  any  rational  prospect  of  success  on 
the  part  of  the  Americans.  Heaven  and  earth  seemed  to  have  con- 
spired against  their  cause  :  and  to  have  removed  from  it  the  counte- 
nance of  man  and  God  alike.  Their  best  Generals  were  prisoners  : 
their  most  wisely  concerted  plans  had  failed,  almost  as  if  by  the 
direct  interposition  of  fate ;  and  that  popular  enthusiasm,  which  had 


WASHINGTON*    RESOLVES    TO    RE-CROSS    THE    DELAWARE.  69 

been  relied  on  as  the  support  of  the  cause,  and  which  at  first  had 
promised  to  sweep  away  all  opposition  before  its  resistless  wave, 
had  now  subsided  and  left  the  country  a  wreck,  high  and  dry  on 
the  shore.  With  three  thousand  men,  Washington  occupied  the 
Delaware,  while  the  British,  with  twenty  thousand,  swarmed  over 
the  Jerseys  in  pursuit.  Already  Philadelphia  was  threatened,  and 
the  most  sanguine  thought  its  capture  could  not  be  delayed  a  month. 
Congress  had  fled  to  Baltimore.  Terror,  panic,  despair,  and  a  self- 
ish desire  to  save  themselves,  began  to  affect  even  the  best  patriots. 
The  clouds  stooped  low  and  black,  and  the  tempest  hurtled  around 
every  man's  home. 

To  add  to  the  awful  gloom  of  the  crisis,  Howe  now  issued  a  pro- 
clamation, offering  a  pardon  to  all  who  would  lay  down  their  arms 
and  take  the  oath  of  allegiance,  within  sixty  days.  Instantly,  hun- 
dreds grasped  at  what  they  deemed  a  fortunate  chance  of  escape  : 
former  professions  were  forgotten  in  present  panic :  and  throughout 
New  Jersey  and  Pennsylvania,  the  most  alarming  defections,  even 
among  leaders  in  the  popular  cause,  daily  occurred.  The  loyalists, 
who  had  been  heretofore  overawed,  now  vented  their  long  concealed 
rage :  plunder,  insult,  and  oppression  became  the  daily  lot  of  the 
suffering  patriots.  Almost  alone,  beneath  this  driving  storm, 
Washington  stood  up  erect  and  unappalled.  For  one  moment  his 
constancy  did  not  forsake  him.  He  was,  in  that  awful  hour,  the 
Achilles  and  Atlas  of  the  cause.  No  hint  of  submission  ever 
crossed  his  lips :  no  word  of  despondency  or  doubt  was  heard.  His 
unshaken  front  inspired  Congress  anew,  warmed  the  drooping  enthu- 
siasm of  his  army,  and  finally  enabled  him  to  deal  a  blow  which 
rescued  the  country  at  the  very  instant  of  ruin,  and  sent  his  late  tri- 
umphant foe  reeling  back  with  defeat.  Like  a  wrestler,  almost 
overcome  in  a  struggle,  and  whom  his  antagonist  thinks  about  to 
succumb,  but  who,  rallying  all  his  strength  for  a  last  effort,  suddenly 
throws  his  astonished  opponent,  so,  Washington,  defeated  and  .pros- 
trated, all  at  once  started  to  his  feet,  and  with  one  gigantic  and 
desperate  strain,  hurled  his  enemy  to  the  ground,  stunned,  bleeding, 
and  utterly  discomfited. 

The  English,  after  the  retreat  of  Washington  across  the  Delaware, 
had  distributed  themselves  in  cantonments  on  the  New  Jersey  side, 
occupying  Trenton,  Princeton,  Burlington,  Mount  Holly,  and  vari- 
ous other  posts.  Flushed  with  victory,  and  fancying  their  enemy 
completely  disheartened,  they  gave  themselves  up  to  ease  and  care- 
lessness. The  watchful  eye  of  Washington  saw  the  inviting  oppor- 
tunity to  strike  a  blow.  He  knew  that,  without  some  speedy  and 


70 


THZ  WAR  OF  INDEPENDENCE. 


brilliant  success  on  his  part,  the  cause  of  America  was  lost.  It  was 
better  to  hazard  all  on  one  die,  than  to  lose  the  present  precious 
opportunity  which  might  never  return.  Accordingly,  he  resolved  to 
re-cross  the  river  and  surprise  the  enemy,  if  possible,  at  one  or  more 
of  his  posts.  The  night  of  the  25th  of  December,  was  chosen  for  the 
purpose,  as  on  that  festival  day  the  foe,  little  dreaming  an  enemy 


-TTLK  OP   TRENTON. 


was  near,  would  probably  give  himself  up  to  license  and  merriment. 
On  that  night,  therefore,  Washington  crossed  the  Delaware  at 
McConkey's  Ferry,  nine  miles  above  Trenton.  General  Cadwalader 
was  to  have  effected  a  landing  opposite  Bristol,  and  General  Irvine 
was  to  have  transported  his  troops  at  Trenton  Ferry;  but  both 
failed  in  consequence  of  he  river  being  full  of  driving  ice :  nor 
did  Washington  himself  .fleet  his  crossing  until  four  o'clock,  and 
after  incredible  efforts.  Once  on  the  Jersey  shore,  however,  he 
lost '  o  time.  Dividing  i  a  troops  into  two  divisions,  he  sent  one 
alo1  the  river  road,  while  the  other,  accompanied  by  himself,  took 
tb  pper  or  Penning  ton  route.  The  night  was  bitterly  cold,  and 
J  .o  snow  fell  fast ;  but  the  troops,  animated  by  the  same  hope  as 
their  leader,  pressed  eagerly  forward.  The  light  was  just  breaking 
when,  at  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning,  they  drove  in  the  outposts  of 
the  Hessians.  The  enemy,  suddenly  aroused  from  their  beds  or 
from  the  taverns  where  the,y  had  spent  the  night  in  drinking,  seized 
their  arms,  rushed  out,  and  made  a  show  of  resistance,  their  com- 
mander, Col.  Rahl,  gallantly  leading  them,  until  he  fell  mortally 


THE    BATTLE    OF    TRENTON. 


71 


wounded.  The  Hessians  now  fled  rapidly  down  the  village.  At 
this  juncture,  the  other  detachment  of  the  Americans,  which,  follow- 
ing the  river  road,  had  entered  the  town  at  its  lower  extremity,  was 
heard  firing  through  the  tempest,  and  the  panic-struck  Hessians, 
now  enclosed  between  two  forces,  were  speedily  compelled  to  lay 
down  their  arms.  Only  a  few  cavalry  of  the  enemy  escaped.  One 
thousand  prisoners  were  taken,  besides  as  many  stand  of  arms,  and 
six  field  pieces.  Had  the  detachments  of  Cadwalader  and  Irvine 
been  able  to  cross  as  projected,  the  twenty-five  hundred  of  the 
enemy  at  Bordentown,  Mount  Holly,  and  the  White  Horse,  would 
likewise  have  been  captured,  and  the  whole  British  force  in  that 
section  of  New  Jersey  prostrated  at  a  blow. 

As  it  was,  this  bold  incursion  struck  terror  to  the  heart  of  the 
English  army.  Cornwallis,  who  had  gone  to  New  York  in 
order  to  embark  for  England,  retraced  his  steps,  and  once  more 
assumed  command  of  the  forces  near  the  Delaware.  His  first 
movement  was  to  withdraw  all  his  troops  from  the  more  exposed 
posts,  and  concentrate  them  at  Princeton  and  towards  New  Bruns- 
wick. Thus  the  English  army  stood  in  attitude  of  defence  like  a 
boxer  just  recovered  from  a  staggering  blow. 


BOOK  III. 


TO    THE     ALLIANCE     WITH     FRANCE. 


HE  late  disasters  to  the  American  cause 
had  resulted  principally  from  the  want 
of  a  proper  organization  of  the  army. 
Had  Congress  listened  to  the  remon- 
strances of  Washington,  and,  taking 
advantage  of  the  popular  enthusiasm 
after  the  battle  of  Bunker  Hill,  enlisted 
recruits  for  the  war,  a  force  of  thirty 
thousand  men  could  easily  have  been  procured,  not  liable  to  be  dis- 
solved by  reverses,  or  by  the  abatement  of  the  momentary  excite- 
ment. The  army  would  have  been  composed  of  disciplined  and 
veteran  soldiers,  who  could  have  been  relied  on  in  every  emergency : 
whereas  now  it  was  made  up  chiefly  of  six  or  twelve  months 
militia,  with  whom  a  general  could  not  venture  on  any  delicate 
manosuvre  in  the  crisis  of  battle.  All  the  disasters  following  the  con 
10  G  73 


74  THE  WAR  OF   INDEPENDENCE. 

test  on  Long  Island  may  be  traced  to  the  neglect  of  this  advice  of 
Washington. 

It  was  in  the  very  darkest  hour  of  the  Revolution,  just  before  the 
surprise  at  Trenton,  that  Congress  awoke  to  a  sense  of  its  mistake, 
and  endeavored  to  redeem  the  cause  by  appointing  Washington 
dictator  for  six  months,  giving  him  power  to  remove  all  officers 
beneath  the  rank  of  brigadier.  Meantime  to  prove  that  submission 
was  still  far  from  its  thoughts,  it  instructed  the  commissioners  in 
Europe,  Dr.  Franklin  and  Silas  Deane,  to  renew  their  protestations 
at  the  courts  of  France  and  Spain,  and  to  assure  those  powers  that 
the  colonies,  notwithstanding  their  late  defeats,  would  continue  the 
war  at  all  hazards.  The  commissioners  were  also  instructed  to  en- 
deavor to  draw  his  most  Christian  Majesty  into  the  war  by  the  most 
liberal  promises.  Half  the  island  and  fisheries  of  New  Found- 
land  were  offered  as  a  bribe,  and  afterwards,  all  the  possessions  in 
the  West  Indies  that  might  be  conquered  during  the  contest.  Agents 
were  also  sent  with  representations  to  the  courts  of  Berlin,  Tuscany 
and  Vienna.  The  choice  of  Dr.  Franklin  as  one  of  the  deputies 
abroad  was  a  happy  thought :  his  reputation  for  science,  his  philoso- 
phic character,  his  simple  mode  of  life,  and  his  venerable  age  made 
him  the  fashion  in  Paris ;  and  assisted,  not  a  little,  in  bringing  about 
the  subsequent  treaty  of  amity  with  the  Court  of  France. 

Meantime  Washington  resolved  to  follow  up  the  surprise  at  Tren- 
ton with  another  blow.  He  had,  on  the  .evening  of  the  victory, 
retired  across  the  Delaware.  His  prisoners,  the  next  day,  were 
marched  ostentatiously  through  Philadelphia,  in  order  to  raise  the 
drooping  spirits  of  the  citizens.  Having  done  this,  he  re-crossed,  in 
the  course  of  a  few  days,  to  Trenton,  intending  to  act  in  the  offen- 
sive. The  British,  in  the  interval,  had  concentrated  at  Princeton ; 
but  Cornwallis,  receiving  intelligence  of  Washington's  return  to  New 
Jersey  moved  on  Trenton,  where  he  arrived  on  the  morning  of  the 
and  of  January,  1 777,  leaving  his  rear  guard  at  Maidenhead,  a  vil- 
lage half  way  between  Princeton  and  Trenton.  Washington,  finding 
Cornwallis  in  such  force,  retired  across  the  Assunpink  creek,  which 
skirts  the  southern  extremity  of  the  town  of  Trenton,  having  first  se- 
cured the  bridge.  The  British,  on  this,  attempted  to  pass  the  stream, 
but  were  thrice  repulsed.  A  cannonade,  on  both  sides,  was  kept 
up  until  dark,  when  a  council  was  called  in  the  American  camp. 
The  peril  of  the  little  army  was  imminent.  To  wait  the  event  of 
the  next  day's  battle,  against  the  overwhelming  force  of  Cornwallis, 
was  to  ensure  destruction  :  to  retire  across  the  Delaware,  encumbered 
with  floating  ice,  in  face  of  a  wary  foe,  was  equally  perilous.  In 


BATTLE    OF    PRINCETON.  7o 

this  emergency,  the  bold  design  was  adopted  of  falling  on  the 
enemy's  line  of  communications,  and  thus  carrying  the  war  into  the 
very  heart  of  New  Jersey. 

Accordingly,  in  the  night,  the  regular  fires  being  kept  up,  and 
sentinels  posted,  the  army  of  Washington  silently  withdrew  from 
the  Assunpink,  and  taking  a  circuitous  route  to  avoid  Maidenhead, 
before  morning  was  far  on  its  way  to  Princeton.  Here  it  fell  in 
with  two  British  regiments,  when  a  sharp  action  ensued.  The 
enemy  fought  with  desperate  resolution,  thinking  themselves  sur- 
rounded, with  no  hope  of  escape.  At  last,  the  American  militia 
Avavered.  Washington,  on  this,  seizing  a  standard,  galloped  in  front 
of  his  men,  exposing  his  person  to  the  fire  of  both  armies.  The 
example  was  electric.  The  retreating  militia,  opportunely  succored 
by  the  veterans  of  Trenton,  now  returned  to  the  charge,  and  the  day 
was  won.  In  this  affair,  General  Mercer  was  mortally  wounded. 
About  one  hundred  of  the  enemy  were  slain,  and  three  hundred 
taken  prisoners.  The  Americans  lost  in  all  one  hundred.  A  part 
of  one  of  the  British  regiments  escaped  to  Maidenhead ;  the  other 
retired  to  New  Brunswick. 

Cornwallis,  at  early  dawn,  was  awakened  by  the  noise  of  firing 
in  the  direction  of  Princeton.  Discovering  that  the  enemy  was  no 
longer  in  his  front,  he  instantly  divined  the  stratagem  of  Washington, 
and  ordered  his  troops  to  march  with  all  haste  in  pursuit,  alarmed 
for  his  communications.  He  used  such  expedition,  that  he  arrived 
at  Princeton  almost  as  soon  as  the  American  rear-guard.  Washing- 
ton now  found  himself  again  in  imminent  peril.  Unable  to  compete 
with  the  forces  of  Cornwallis,  no  resource  was  left  but  a  hasty 
retreat.  Instead  of  retracing  his  steps,  however,  he  pushed  on  to  the 
Raritan.  Cornwallis  followed.  Washington,  finding  his  troops  too 
few  and  feeble  to  maintain  the  war  at  present,  retired  to  the  hilly 
country  of  upper  New  Jersey,  and  took  post  at  Morristown.  On 
this,  Cornwallis  abandoned  the  pursuit  and  returned  to  New  Bruns- 
wick, where  he  found  his  subordinate,  General  Matthews,  removing 
in  terror  the  baggage  and  stores.  In  a  few  days,  Washington, 
receiving  some  slight  accessions  of  strength,  descended  into  the  open 
country,  where  he  so  judiciously  manoeuvred  as,  in  a  little  time,  to 
command  the  whole  coast  in  front  of  Staten  Island.  Thus,  the 
British  army,  after  having  overrun  all  New  Jersey,  now  found  itself, 
in  face  of  an  inferior  foe,  restricted  to  the  two  posts  of  New  Bruns- 
wick and  Amboy,  besides  being  cut  off  from  all  communication  with 
New  York,  except  by  sea. 

This  brilliant  winter  campaign  changed  the  whole  aspect  of  the 


76 


THE    WAR    OF    INDEPENDENCE. 


contest.     The  patriots  recovered  their  hopes  and  their  enthusiasm : 
the  indifferent  and  timorous  came  out  openly  on  the  side  of  the  coun- 


LORD   CORNWALLIS. 


try :  and  the  loyalists,  lately  so  elated,  began  to  despond.  Another 
fact  added  to  the  revulsion  in  popular  feeling.  The  Hessians  had 
signalized  their  supremacy  in  New  Jersey  by  the  greatest  excesses, 
so  that  even  many  of  the  loyal  inhabitants  had  become  exasperated. 
From  this  period  to  the  end  of  the  conflict  the  people  of  New  Jersey, 
at  first  comparatively  lukewarm  in  the  cause,  were  distinguished  as 
the  most  earnest  and  decided  supporters  of  the  war.  The  epoch  of 
the  battle  of  Trenton  marked  the  turning  point  of  the  contest.  The 
fortunes  of  the  colonists  had  then  reached  their  lowest  ebb.  After 
that  period,  though  the  cause  fluctuated  continually,  there  was,  on 
the  whole,  a  perceptible  gain.  The  waves  flowed  and  retreated ; 
but  the  tide  steadily  advanced. 


WASHINGTON  AT  MIDDLEBROOK.  77 

The  spring  of  1777,  opened  with  favorable  omens  to  the  Ameri- 
cans ;  for,  as  the  mild  weather  advanced,  recruits  began  to  flock  to 
Washington's  camp.  Howe,  meantime,  diverted  his  troops  by 
attacking  Peekskill,  on  the  Hudson,  and  Danbury,  in  Connecticut, 
for  the  purpose  of  destroying  stores  :  in  both  of  these  expeditions,  he 
was  comparatively  successful.  The  Americans  retorted  by  a  descent 
on  Sagg  Harbor,  where  they  burned  a  dozen  British  ships  and  took 
many  prisoners.  As  yet  the  American  General  had  not  been  able 
to  penetrate  the  plans  of  his  opponent  for  the  ensuing  campaign. 
One  opinion  was,  that  the  British  leader  intended  renewing  his 
designs  on  Philadelphia :  another,  and  to  this  Washington  leaned, 
that  he  projected  an  ascent  of  the  Hudson,  to  form  a  junction 
with  Burgoyne,  who  was  about  to  lead  the  contemplated  expe- 
dition from  Canada.  This  latter  was  certainly  the  true  policy. 
By  seizing  the  Hudson,  and  uniting  with  Burgoyne  at  Albany, 
or  above  that  place,  Howe  would  have  cut  off  the  middle  and 
southern  states  from  New  England ;  and  the  prospect  of  ultimate 
success  for  the  Americans,  would  in  consequence  have  been  greatly 
decreased.  To  be  ready,  however,  for  either  movement  on  the  part 
of  Howe,  Washington  stationed  a  portion  of  his  troops  at  Peekskill, 
posting  the  remainder  in  New  Jersey.  In  this  manner,  if  Howe 
moved  on  Philadelphia,  he  would  find  in  front  the  forces  of  New 
Jersey,  while  those  at  Peekskill  would  descend  and  harass  his  right 
flank :  if,  on  the  other  hand,  he  took  the  direction  of  Albany,  the 
troops  at  Peekskill  would  be  in  front,  and  those  of  New  Jersey  on 
the  flank.  As  a  further  resource,  a  camp  for  recruits  was  formed  at 
Philadelphia,  which,  in  an  emergency,  might  furnish  resources. 
Having  made  these  admirable  dispositions,  Washington  waited  for 
Howe  to  take  the  initiative. 

The  British  General  had  been  recommended  by  the  ministry  to 
ascend  the  Hudson  and  form  a  junction  with  Burgoyne  :  but  Howe, 
exercising  his  discretion,  determined  to  advance  on  Philadelphia 
instead.  He  thought  it  certain  that  Washington  would  hazard  Sf 
battle,  or  retire  ;  in  either  case  he  felt  sure  of  his  prey.  The  capture 
of  the  capital,  he  hoped,  would  end  the  war,  of  which  he  would 
then  reap  all  the  renown.  Accordingly  he  made  demonstrations  of 
inarching  on  the  Delaware.  Washington,  however,  contrary  to 
Howe's  expectation,  neither  descended  into  the  plains  to  give  battle, 
nor  hurried  to  the  defence  of  Philadelphia ;  but  maintaining  his  old 
position  on  the  heights  of  Middlebrook,  prepared  to  cut  off  Howe's 
communications.  The  British  General  accordingly  retraced  his  steps, 

and  began  a  series  of  manoeuvres  to  draw  Washington  from  his 

«* 


78  THE   WAR  OF  INDEPENDENCE. 

position.  Once  he  had  nearly  succeeded.  Having  made  a  pretence 
of  retiring  from  Amboy  to  Staten  Island,  Washington  fancied  he  was 
really  about  to  retreat,  and  descended  to  assail  him.  Instantly 
a  detachment  under  Cornwallis  was  sent  to  seize  the  late  position  of 
the  Americans;  but  Washington,  timely  informed  of  his  error,  hastened 
to  retrace  his  steps,  and  reached  his  old  camp  in  safety. 

Thus  foiled,  Howe  resolved  to  abandon  the  idea  of  crossing  New 
Jersey,  and  embarking  his  troops,  to  reach  Philadelphia  by  sea. 
But,  hoping  to  deceive  Washington  as  to  his  real  intentions,  he 
feigned  an  invasion  up  the  Hudson.  Intelligence  had  just  been 
received  of  the  advance  of  Burgoyne  to  Ticonderoga,  and  speedily 
after  of  the  fall  of  that  place  :  so  that,  for  a  while,  Washington  gave 
credit  to  the  supposed  co-operation.  In  a  few  days,  however,  his 
sagacious  mind  penetrated  the  cheat ;  when,  dividing  his  army  into 
several  corps,  he  prepared  to  march  at  a  moment's  warning  on  the 
Delaware.  He  sent  Congress  word  of  the  contemplated  attack; 
exhorted  the  proper  authorities  of  Pennsylvania,  Delaware  and  New 
Jersey  to  collect  militia  near  the  threatened  points ;  ancU»prdered 
watches  to  be  kept  at  the  capes  of  Delaware,  to  give  early  intimation 
of  the''  appearance  of  the  English  fleet.  On  the  23rd  of  July 
the  royal  squadron  and  transports  sailed  from  Sandy  Hook. 
Washington,  however,  lest  he  should  yet  be  made  the  victim  .of 
a  stratagem,  did  not  abandon  his  position  in  East  Jersey.  For 
a  time,  too,  the  news  received  of  the  enemy's  fleet  was  extremely 
conflicting.  At  first  the  ships  were  seen  near  the  capes  of  Delaware, 
steering  eastward :  this  alarmed  Washington  for  the  banks  of  the 
Hudson.  Then  they  appeared  again  at  the  entrance  of  Delaware 
bay,  but  immediately  vanished  to  the  south :  this  inspired  fears  lest 
they  should  have  gone  to  the  Carolinas.  At  last  intelligence  was 
obtained  of  the  arrival  of  the  squadron  in  the  Chesapeake :  this  set- 
tled all  doubts ;  and  hastily  collecting  his  various  corps,  Washington 
advanced  by  quick  marches  to  oppose  the  enemy  at  his  landing.  A 
month,  however,  had  been  wasted  in  these  mano3uvres  ;  and  it  was 
the  last  of  August  before  the  English  disembarked,  which  they  did 
at  the  head  of  Elk  river,  in  Maryland.  The  whole  continent  now 
stood  gazing  in  silent  awe  as  the  two  armies  approached  each  other. 
A  battle  was  inevitable.  The  destiny  of  America  might  hang  on 
the  result. 

While  these  events  were  transacting,  two  incidents  happened  in 
other  quarters,  which  we  must  pause  to  relate.  General  Sullivan, 
at  the  head  of  fifteen  hundred  American  troops,  made  an  attack  on 
Staten  Island ;  and  though  at  first  successful,  was  finally  repulsed 


BATTLE    OF    BRANDYWINE.  79 

with  heavy  loss.  The  other  occurrence  was  the  capture  of  Major 
General  Prevost,  commanding  the  seven  battalions  of  English 
troops  which  occupied  Rhode  Island.  This  officer  slept  at  a  farm- 
house not  far  from  Narragansett  Bay.  At  the  dead  of  night  he  was 
taken  out  of  his  bed,  by  Lieut.  Col.  Barton,  at  the  head  of  forty  men, 
and  being  carried  to  the  whale-boats  in  which  the  party  descended, 
was  securely  carried  off.  This  bold  exploit  filled  the  country  with 
applause,  particularly  as  it  afforded  the  Americans  an  officer  of 
equal  rank  to  exchange  for  General  Lee. 

About  the  same  period,  the  Marquis  La  Fayette  arrived  at  Phila- 
delphia. He  came  to  join  the  American  cause  as  a  volunteer. 
Very  rich,  of  high  rank,  and  supposed  to  have  influence  at  the  Court 
of  Versailles,  his  appearance  was  hailed  as  an  omen  of  an  approach- 
ing alliance  with  France.  He  became  a  favorite  with  Washington, 
who  saw  in  his  enthusiasm,  in  his  refusal  to  accept  pay,  and  in  the 
fact  that  he  had  torn  himself  from  the  arms  of  a  young  and  lovely 
wife,  powerful  reasons  for  regard  and  affection.  Nor  to  the  close 
of  life,  was  there  any  diminution  of  the  mutual  love  and  friendship 
of  the  two  heroes. 

When  Washington  arrived  in  the  vicinity  of  the  Chesapeake,  he 
discovered  that  the  British  had  already  effected  a  landing.  After 
some  mano3uvres,  he  took  post  behind  the  Brandywine,  at  a  spot 
called  Chad's  Ford,  and  prepared  to  dispute  the  passage  of  the 
enemy ;  Congress  and  the  public  loudly  demanding  a  battle  to  save 
Philadelphia.  On  the  1 1th  of  September  the  British  advanced  to  the 
attack.  The  country  in  the  vicinity  of  Chad's  is  undulating,  and  about 
six  miles  above  the  ford,  the  river  divides  into  two  forks.  Howe 
resolved  to  leave  Knyphausen  with  a  portion  of  the  army  to  make 
a  feint  of  assailing  the  Americans  in  front,  at  the  ford  ;  while,  with 
a  much  stronger  body,  he  and  Cornwallis  gained  the  rear  of  Wash- 
ington by  crossing  the  Brandywine  higher  up.  The  stratagem  was 
eminently  successful.  The  British  passed  the  Brandywine  above 
the  forks,  without  the  knowledge  of  the  Americans ;  the  videttes  of 
the  latter  not  being  pushed  so  far,  arid  the  country  people  being  too 
disaffected  to  give  warning.  Meantime,  Knyphausen  began  to  make 
repeated  feints  to  attempt  the  passage  at  Chad's  Ford.  He  first 
advanced  his  marksmen  across  the  river,  but  the  Americans  forcing 
them  back,  he  opened  a  furious  cannonade,  and  made  dispositions  as 
if  about  to  attack  with  all  his  troops.  In  this  manner  the  morning 
passed.  Washington  was  preparing  to  cross  the  river,  and  assail 
Knyphausen,  when,  about  noon,  he  received  intelligence  that  Corn- 
wallis had  crossed  the  Brandywine,  and  was  coming  down  in  his 


80 


THE    WAR    OF    INDEPENDENCE. 


rear.     Already,  in  fact,  long  columns  of  dust,  winding  in  serpentine 
course  among  the  distant  hills,  announced  his  route. 

The  moment  was  critical.  Washington,  if  he  disregarded  the  enemy 
in  his  rear,  might  precipitate  himself  on  Knyphausen  in  front ;  but, 
by  such  a  movement,  he  would  abandon  the  right  bank  of  the 
Brandywine  to  Cornwallis,  and  throw  open  the  route  to  Philadel- 
phia. No  resource,  therefore,  was  left  but  to  turn  and  face  the 
Marquis.  Accordingly  Washington  wheeled  the  brigades  of  Sullivan, 
Stephens  and  Stirling  to  oppose  Cornwallis,  who  was  said  to  be 
approaching  Birmingham  meeting-house,  two  miles  in  the  rear. 
Then,  leaving  Wayne  with  a  strong  corps  at  Chad's  Ford,  he  him- 
self, with  two  divisions,  accompanied  by  General  Greene,  took  a 
position  half  way  between  Chad's  Ford  and  the  meeting-house,  to 
be  ready  to  assist  either  wing  as  occasion  might  require.  Having 
done  this,  he  waited  anxiously  for  the  result. 


BIRMrXGHAM   MEETING-HODSE 


When  Sullivan,  with  his  three  divisions,  reached  Birmingham 
meeting-house,  he  found  Cornwallis  drawn  up  on  the  declivity  of  a 


BATTLE   OF  BRAJfDYWINE.  81 

lofty  eminence  opposite,  the  scarlet  uniforms  of  his  troops  relieving 
the  deep  green  of  the  hill-side,  on  which  they  swarmed,  as  a  specta- 
tor has  written,  like  bees.  The  British  army  had  just  finished  its 
noontide  meal,  and  as  Sullivan's  corps  came  in  sight,  the  blare  of 
trumpets  sounded  along  the  line,  and  the  whole  of  that  splendid 
army  put  itself  into  motion.  The  distance  from  the  summit  of  the 
hill  on  which  the  meeting-house  stands,  to  the  top  of  the  neighbor- 
ing elevation,  following  the  descent  into  the  valley,  and  the  opposite 
rise,  is  nearly  a  mile ;  so  that  some  time  necessarily  elapsed  before 
the  British  troops  came  within  range.  During  this  period  the 
spectacle  they  presented,  as  they  slowly  descended  one  hill  and 
began  to  ascend  the  other,  was  truly  magnificent.  They  moved  in 
a  solid  mass,  forming  a  compact  and  extended  front,  along  which 
ran  the  glitter  of  their  polished  arms,  and  over  which  their  banners 
floated  lazily  in  the  sultry  breeze.  The  action  began  on  the  American 
right,  and  soon  extended  along  the  whole  line.  Both  wings  speedily 
gave  way,  the  disorder  beginning  on  the  right.  Sullivan's  own  divi- 
sion breaking,  he  hurried,  flushed  and  excited,  to  animate  the  centre. 
With  this  the  contest  was  longer  and  fiercer.  Occupying  the  low  stone 
wall  of  the  grave-yard  which  crowns  Birmingham  hill,  the  Americans 
poured  in  a  steady  fire  on  the  advancing  foe ;  but  fresh  troops  dashing 
up  the  hill,  and  the  victorious  British  hastening  from  the  rout  of  the 
other  divisions,  to  turn  their  flank,  they  were  forced  to  retreat.  The 
English  now  poured  densely  over  the  brow  of  the  hill.  The  Ameri- 
cans fled  through  an  orchard  in  their  rear,  where  the  carnage  was 
dreadful.  The  retreat  might  have  become  a  rout,  but  for  the  arrival 
of  Greene,  who  opening  his  columns  to  suffer  the  fugitives  to  pass, 
closed  up  immediately  after,  and  continued  to  face  the  foe. 

In  the  meantime  Knyphausen,  finding  the  enemy  in  his  front 
weakened,  forded  the  river  and  advanced  to  attack  Wayne.  After 
a  brave  resistance  the  latter  fell  back,  leaving  his  artillery  in  the 
hands  of  the  enemy.  In  his  retreat  he  passed  in  the  rear  of  Greene, 
who,  posted  in  a  defile  between  two  woods,  ploughed  the  enemy's 
advancing  columns  with  artillery,  and  was  the  last  to  retire.  The 
army  fell  back  to  Chester,  where,  for  a  whole  day,  fugitives  con- 
tinued arriving,  many  having  escaped  by  lanes  and  circuitous  ways. 
The  British  spent  the  night  on  the  battle-field.  The  loss  of  the 
Americans  was  over  a  thousand ;  that  of  their  opponents  less  than 
five  hundred.  In  this  conflict  the  Virginians  and  Pennsylvanians 
fought  with  particular  intrepidity;  and  Count  Pulaski,  a  Pole,  at 
the  head  of  the  light-horse,  charged  in  the  most  gallant  manner. 

11 


82 


THE   WAR  OF  INDEPENDENCE. 


Here  La  Fayette  saw  his  first  engagement,  and  received  a  wound 
in  his  leg.  The  defeat  may  be  attributed  to  ignorance  of  the  move- 
ments of  Cornwallis,  arising  chiefly  from  the  want  of  a  sufficient 
number  of  well  mounted  videttes* 

The  news  of  this  disaster  was  received  with  various  emotions  in 
Philadelphia.  The  disaffected  openly  rejoiced :  the  patriots  were 
struck  with  consternation.  Congress,  however,  remained  firm.  That 
body  voted  reinforcements  to  Washington,  who,  after  a  few  days 
repose  for  his  troops,  took  the  field  again  to  seek  another  encounter 
with  the  enemy.  The  two  armies  came  in  sight  of  each  other  on- 
the  1 6th,  on  the  Lancaster  road,  a  few  miles  from  Philadelphia  ;  but 
a  heavy  rain  beginning  to  fall,  the  American  muskets  were  rendered 
useless  and  much  of  their  ammunition  was  spoiled.  Washington 
was  compelled,  by  this  accident,  to  retreat  to  Yellow  Springs,  and 
thence  to  Warwick  Furnace,  on  French  creek.  He  sent  Wayne, 
however,  to  harass  the  march  of  Howe.  But  a  detachment  of  British 
troops,  led  by  General  Grey,  surprised  this  General  in  the  night, 
and  he  only  escaped  with  the  loss  of  one  hundred  and  fifty  men. 
This  is  the  affair  usually  known  as  the  Paoli  massacre.  Howe  now 
advanced  on  Philadelphia,  by  the  way  of  Germantown,  Congress 
adjourning  on  his  approach  to  the  town  of  York  in  Pennsylvania  •, 
and  on  the  26th  of  September,  Lord  Cornwallis,  with  the  van  of  the 
British  army,  marched  into  the  capital,  to  the  great  joy  of  the  disaf- 
fected. The  rest  of  the  English  force,  however,  remained  encamped 
at  Germantown,  six  miles  from  the  city.  Washington  took  post  at 
Skippack  creek,  about  fourteen  miles  distant. 

The  first  object  of  Howe,  on  finding  himself  in  possession  of  Phi- 
ladelphia, was  to  subdue  the  forts  commanding  the  Delaware  below 
that  city,  and  to  remove  the  obstructions  with  which  the  Americans 
had  filled  the  river.  The  forces  detached  for  this  purpose  necessarily 
weakened  the  army  at  Germantown.  Aware  of  this,  Washington 
resolved  to  attempt  surprising  it.  The  village  of  Germantown  is 
built  on  a  single  street,  occupying  both  sides  of  the  road  for  about 
two  miles.  The  English  army  lay  very  nearly  in  the  centre  of  the 
town,  being  encamped  behind  a  lane  that  crosses  the  street  at  right 
angles  in  the  vicinity  of  the  market  place.  About  a  mile  from  this 
spot,  and  at  the  head  of  the  village,  is  a  large  stone  house  known  as 
Chew's  mansion.  More  than  a  mile  higher  up  is  Mount  Airy, 
where  the  English  had  a  picket  guard.  It  was  about  dawn  on  the 
morning  of  the  4th  of  October  when  Washington  drove  in  this  picket, 
and  pushing  on,  dashed  for  the  centre  of  the  town.  Sullivan,  com- 
manding the  right  wing,  marched  through  the  fields  to  the  right  of 


BATTLE   OP  GERMANTOWN.  83 

the  village  street ;  Wayne,  leading  another  division,  passed  to  the  left ; 
and  Greene,  with  a  strong  corps,  making  a  circuit  on  the  left  of 
Wayne,  followed  a  road  which  entered  the  town  just  below  the 
market  place.  The  morning  was  foggy,  so  that  the  soldiers  could  see 
but  a  few  paces  before  them.  At  first  this  favored  the  attack ;  and 
the  British  fell  back  hurriedly  and  in  affright.  Sullivan,  advancing 
with  headlong  speed,  soon  reached  the  centre  of  the  town.  Here  all 
was  in  comparative  confusion  on  the  part  of  the  enemy.  The  British 
troops,  hastily  aroused,  were  forming  in  the  lane  in  front  of  their 
encampment.  Howe,  imagining  himself  surrounded,  was  gallopping 
bewildered  to  the  point  of  danger  :  while  the  wildest  rumors  circu- 
lated among  the  soldiers,  and  even  struck  dismay  to  the  hearts  of 
their  officers.  Victory  seemed  in  Sullivan's  grasp.  Suddenly  a 
sharp  firing  was  heard  in  his  rear,  when  a  voice  among  his  soldiers 
exclaimed,  that  the  British  had  cut  them  off;  and  at  the  same 
moment  troops  were  seen  advancing  through  the  fog  in  front,  their 
numbers  magnified  by  the  obscurity.  A  panic  instantly  ensued. 
Cries  of  alarm  were  heard  on  all  sides.  In  vain  Sullivan,  riding 
among  the  men,  assured  them  that  the  troops  in  front  were  a  part 
of  Greeners  division  :  in  vain  couriers  arrived  to  say  that  the  firing 
behind  arose  from  only  a  small  party  of  the  English  who  had  thrown 
themselves  into  Chew's  house  :  in  vain  the  officers,  ready  to  break 
their  swords  in  mortification  and  rage,  declared  to  the  soldiers  that 
they  were  running  away  from  victory.  Nothing  could  allay  the 
panic.  The  men  broke  and  tied.  The  British,  by  this  time  par- 
tially recovering  from  their  alarm,  seized  the  favorable  moment  and 
advanced  with  loud  huzzas.  The  retreat  became  a  rout.  The  enemy 
kept  up  a  hot  pursuit,  and  the  American  army  was  only  saved  by 
the  timely  thought  of  General  Wayne,  who,  throwing  up  a  hasty 
battery  at  White  Marsh  church,  arrested  the  chase  after  it  had  con- 
tinued seven  miles.  In  this  battle  the  loss  of  the  Americans  was 
about  nine  hundred;  that  of  the  British  six  hundred.  Although 
resulting  in  defeat,  it  had  some  of  the  advantages  of  a  victory;  for  it 
induced  Howe  to  withdraw  most  of  his  forces  into  Philadelphia. 
Washington  retired  to  his  old  station  at  Skippack. 

Meantime  Howe  proceeded  to  the  removal  of  the  obstructions  in 
the  river  Delaware,  and  to  the  reduction  of  the  two  forts  which  the 
Americans  had  erected  immediately  below  Philadelphia.  One  of 
these,  Fort  Mifflin,  was  situated  on  the  left  bank  of  the  Delaware  at 
the  confluence  of  the  Schuylkill  with  the  latter  river :  the  other, 
Fort  Mercer,  occupied  a  bold  bluff  on  the  opposite  shore,  called  Red 
Bank.  On  the  22nd  of  October  the  latter  was  assailed,  by  a  com- 


84 


THE   WAR  OF  INDEPENDENCE. 


BATTLE  OF  BED  BANK. 


bined  attack  from  land  and  water.  Count  Donop,  with  twelve  hun- 
dred men,  advanced  to  storm  the  fort,  which  was  defended  by  only 
five  hundred  troops ;  but  was  repulsed  with  a  loss  of  four  hundred, 
himself  being  mortally  wounded.  The  Americans  lost  but  thirty-two. 
The  attack  from  the  water  was  equally  disastrous  to  the  enemy,  he 
losing  in  addition  two  of  his  frigates.  The  attempt  to  reduce  Fort 
Mifflin  was  more  successful,  though  not  until  after  nearly  a  month's 
delay.  On  the  16th  of  November,  the  fort  being  no  longer  tenable, 
its  little  garrison  of  three  hundred  went  over  to  Red  Bank.  This 
post,  also,  was  soon  after  abandoned. 

Washington,  receiving  some  reinforcements,  left  Skippack  and 
took  up  a  position  at  White  Marsh,  fourteen  miles  nearer  Philadel- 
phia. His  army  was  now  fourteen  thousand  strong :  and  that  of 
Howe  was  about  the  same  number.  But  the  latter,  in  discipline, 
equipments  and  materal,  was  infinitely  superior.  The  two  armies 
watched  each  other  for  some  time,  but  Washington  was  not  willing 
to  risk  an  engagement  on  equal  terms ;  and  Howe,  with  his  usual 
prudence,  shrunk  from  assailing  the  American  General  in  his  strong 
position.  Finally  Washington  went  into  winter  quarters,  selecting 
for  the  purpose  a  spot  called  Valley  Forge,  a  wide  ravine  on  elevated 
ground,  about  sixteen  miles  from  Philadelphia.  The  privations 
which  he  and  his  little  army  suffered  there  we  shall  describe  here- 


PALL  OF  TICONDEROGA.  85 

after.  In  the  meantime,  after  premising  that  Howe  had  gained  little 
by  the  campaign  except  a  change  of  quarters  from  New  York  to 
Philadelphia,  let  us  turn  to  the  north,  where  the  most  signal  success 
had  just  crowned  the  American  arms,  and  where  the  inhabitants, 
lately  overcome  by  despair,  were  now  dizzy  with  exultation. 

It  had  been  a  favorite  scheme  with  the  British  ministry,  from  the 
beginning  of  the  war,  to  invade  the  colonies  from  Canada,  and  by 
forming  a  line  of  posts  along  the  Hudson,  to  cut  off  New  England 
from  the  middle  and  southern  provinces.  It  was  in  the  New  En- 
gland states  that  the  soul  and  strength  of  the  rebellion  was  supposed 
to  be :  these  colonies  once  overrun,  the  subjugation  of  the  remain- 
ing, it  was  considered,  would  be  easy.  Accordingly,  at  the  begin- 
ning of  the  year  1777,  preparations  were  made  for  this  invasion.  A 
force  of  seven  thousand  men  was  raised,  which  General  Burgoyne 
was  selected  to  command.  He  was  regarded  as  an  officer  of  ability, 
having  served  with  distinction  in  the  continental  wars :  and  he  was 
not  sparing  of  promises.  The  ministry  were  generous  to  a  fault  in 
supplying  him  with  everything  he  asked.  The  plan  of  the  cam- 
paign was  arranged  in  London.  Burgoyne,  with  seven  thousand 
men,  and  the  most  splendid  train  of  artillery  ever  seen  in  America, 
was  to  advance  on  Albany  by  way  of  Lake  Champlain  :  while 
Colonel  St.  Leger,  with  two  hundred  regulars,  a  regiment  of  loyal- 
ists, and  a  large  force  of  Indians  was  to  penetrate  to  the  same  place 
by  the  route  of  lake  Ontario  and  the  Mohawk.  As  we  have  before 
intimated,  General  Howe  was  recommended  to  form  a  junction  at 
the  same  place  with  Burgoyne  and  St.  Leger ;  but  a  discretionary 
power  being  left  him,  he  exercised  it,  as  we  have  seen,  by  attacking 
Philadelphia. 

The  news  of  this  contemplated  invasion  spread  terror  and  alarm 
throughout  all  the  eastern  states,  but  especially  on  the  frontiers,  and 
in  the  fertile  valleys  of  New  York.  General  Schuyler,  having  the 
chief  command  in  the  northern  department,  exerted  himself  promptly 
and  vigorously  in  this  emergency ;  but  recruits  came  in  slowly,  and 
not  in  sufficient  numbers  for  the  crisis.  His  head  quarters  were  fixed 
at  Stillwater,  where  he  labored  to  prepare  means  of  resistance ; 
while  to  General  St.  Clair  was  deputed  the  command  of  Fort  Ticon- 
deroga,  where  the  first  onset  of  the  enemy  was  expected.  On  the 
2nd  of  July,  Burgoyne,  having  ascended  lake  Champlain,  made  his 
appearance  before  this  fortress,  which  he  proceeded  to  invest,  seizing 
and  erecting  batteries  on  Sugar  Hill,  an  eminence  overlooking  the 
works.  St.  Clair  was  not  prepared  for  the  appearance  of  so  large  a 
force,  nor  had  he  supposed  the  height  in  question  could  be  occupied ; 


:<  -  .  is 

•    '  '  _l 

86  THE  WAR  OF  INDEPENDENCE. 

accordingly  he  called  a  council  of  war,  in  which  it  was  resolved  that 
the  fort  was  no  longer  tenable,  and  that  it  should  be  evacuated.  On 
the  night  of  the  5th,  the  garrison,  taking  with  them  provisions  for 
eight  days,  stealthily  abandoned  the  place ;  but  a  house  accidentally 
taking  fire,  when  the  rear  guard  was  about  to  leave,  lit  up  the  land- 
scape with  the  glare  of  day,  and  revealed  the  flight  of  the  Americans. 
Instantly  the  British  army  was  aroused,  and  a  fierce  pursuit  began. 
At  Skeensborough  the  English  gun-boats  overtook  the  American 
galleys  and  batteaux ;  the  former  were  captured ;  but  most  of  the 
latter  achieved  their  escape.  The  van  of  the  enemy  came  up  with 
the  American  rear  on  the  morning  of  the  7th,  when  a  bloody  con- 
flict began,  maintained  on  the  one  side  with  the  obstinacy  of  des- 
pair, on  the  other  with  the  eagerness  of  victory.  At  last,  the  British 
being  reinforced,  the  Americans  gave  way.  In  this  sanguinary 
contest  the  latter  lost  about  four  hundred,  killed  and  prisoners,  with 
five  hundred  wounded,  of  whom  many  afterwards  perished  mise- 
rably in  the  woods  for  want  of  succor.  The  British  lost  less  than 
two  hundred.  Of  a  thousand  men,  who  composed  his  corps,  War- 
ner reached  the  main  army  some  days  after  with  but  ninety.  St. 
Clair,  with  the  body  of  the  army,  thus  saved  by  the  devotion  of  his 
rear-guard,  after  seven  days  of  toil  and  exposure  in  the  wilderness, 
reached  Fort  Edward,  on  the  Hudson. 

Schuyler  was  already  at  this  latter  place,  and  busied  himself  im- 
mediately in  preparations  to  retard  the  victorious  enemy.  He 
ordered  trenches  to  be  cut,  the  bridges  to  be  broken  down,  and  the 
defiles  where  Burgoyne  would  have  to  pass,  to  be  obstructed  by 
trees  felled  across  them  and  interlaced.  The  cattle  in  the  neighbor- 
hood were  driven  off.  To  add  to  the  desolation  the  inhabitants 
deserted  their  homes,  flying  in  affright  before  the  approach  of  the 
dreaded  foe,  so  that  for  whole  days  a  traveller,  in  crossing  from 
Ticonderoga  to  the  Hudson,  would  meet  nothing  but  ruined  clear- 
ings, smoking  crops,  and  a  wilderness  rendered  more  inhospitable 
by  the  destroying  hand  of  man. 

The  intelligence  of  the  fall  of  Ticonderoga  was  heard  with  a 
thrill  of  horror  by  the  country  at  large.  In  the  popular  mind  the 
strength  of  St.  Glair's  garrison  had  been  overrated,  while  of  that  of 
Burgoyne 's  army,  too  slight  an  estimate  had  been  formed.  The 
suspicion  of  treachery  was  at  first  breathed  against  the  unfortunate 
commander ;  and  even  Schuyler  came  in  for  his  share  of  oppro- 
brium. At  this  day  the  charges  of  cowardice  and  venality  against  St. 
Clair  are  no  longer  entertained  :  but  he  is  regarded  as  an  incompe- 
tent commander,  who  either  should  have  abandoned  Ticonderoga 


FALL    OF    TICONDEROGA. 


87 


in  time,  or  have  held  it  out  manfully.  To  Schuyler  no  censure  can 
properly  apply.  He  exerted  himself  vigorously  in  every  emergency, 
and  it  was  the  measures  he  took  which  in  fact  led  to  the  subsequent 


GENERAL   BUBGOTNK. 


capture  of  Burgoyne.  But  unfortunately  for  him,  he  was  unpopular 
with  the  New  England  states,  and  their  clamors  ultimately  led  to 
his  removal ;  and,  that,  too,  at  a  crisis  when  the  precautions  he  had 
taken  to  arrest  the  foe  were  on  the  point  of  being  crowned  with 
success.  Another  reaped  where  he  had  sown ;  and,  for  a  while, 
Gates  wore  the  laurel  that  of  right  belonged  to  Schuyler.  But  pos- 
terity has  revoked  the  sentence  of  his  contemporaries,  by  restoring  to 
the  latter  General  the  renown  which  was  fairly  earned  by  his  skill, 
his  labors,  and  his  sacrifices. 

The  numerous  Indians  accompanying  Burgoyne 's  army  increased 
the  terror  of  the  inhabitants.  The  massacre  at  Fort  Henry,  in  the 
French  war,  was  still  remembered ;  and  the  murder  of  Miss  McCrea, 
which  now  occurred,  seemed  to  forebode  a  repetition  of  such  scenes. 
This  unfortunate  lady  was  killed  in  a  quarrel  between  two  savages ; 
but  rumor  exaggerated  the  wantonness  of  this  act,  and  thus  the  public 
mind  was  filled  with  horror  and  panic. 

The  general  consternation  did  not,  however,  subdue  the  spirit  of 
Congress  or  paralyze  the  energies  of  Washington.  The  former 


88  THE  WAR  OF  INDEPENDENCE.  ^ 

having  its  eye  ever  on  the  hope  of  an  alliance  with  France,  in- 
structed its  agents  abroad  to  lay  the  blame  on  the  imbecility  and 
misconduct  of  St.  Clair,  and  to  assure  the  Court  of  Versailles  that  the 
Americans,  so  far  from  being  discouraged,  only  waited  an  occasion 
to  avenge  their  defeats.  Washington  exerted  all  his  influence  to 
expedite  succors  to  Schuyler.  General  Lincoln,  a  man  of  great 
influence  in  New  England,  was  despatched  thither  to  encourage  the 
militia  to  enlist ;  General  Arnold  and  Colonel  Morgan,  both  cele- 
brated for  headlong  valor,  were  sent  to  join  Schuyler. 

In  England  the  news  of  the  fall  of  Ticonderoga  was  received  with 
unbounded  expressions  of  delight.  Those  who  had  opposed  the  war 
were  silenced  by  the  popular  outcry;  while  the  ministry  were  hailed 
as  the  asserters  of  the  public  honor.  Success  lent  a  temporary  halo 
to  the  cause  of  oppression,  and,  in  the  exultation  of  the  moment,  the 
complete  subjugation  of  America  was  regarded  as  now  at  hand. 
Yet  how  strange  are  the  ordinations  of  fate  !  At  the  very  moment 
when,  in  England,  these  extravagant  expectations  were  being 
indulged,  the  whole  face  of  affairs  in  America  had  become  suddenly 
changed :  Burgoyne,  so  late  the  arrogant  victor,  was  now  a  sup- 
pliant captive ;  and  the  cause  of  Great  Britain,  but  two  short  months 
before  at  the  zenith  of  success,  was  now  setting  in  darkness,  and 
tempest,  and  despair. 

Although  Ticonderoga  fell  on  the  6th  of  July,  it  was  the  30th  of 
the  same  month  before  Burgoyne  advanced  to  the  Hudson.  This 
delay  was  owing  to  the  obstructions  in  the  roads,  and  to  his  being 
compelled  to  take  all  his  provisions  with  him.  He  subsequently 
remained  at  Fort  Edward,  from  which  the  Americans  had  retired 
on  his  approach,  until  the  1 5th  of  August,  engaged  in  bringing  sup- 
plies from  Ticonderoga.  But  his  success  was  inconsiderable  in  this 
undertaking.  The  horses  he  expected  from  Canada  had  not  arrived ; 
he  could  with  difficulty  procure  the  comparatively  small  number  of 
fifty  pair  of  oxen;  and,  to  add  to  his  embarrassments,  heavy  and 
continual  rains  wore  down  the  soldiers  and  rendered  the  roads  im- 
passable. On  the  15th,  notwithstanding  all  his  exertions,  there  were 
but  four  days'  provisions  in  camp.  He  now  resolved  to  send  out  a 
detachment  to  Bennington  in  New  Hampshire,  where  he  learned 
there  was  a  depot  of  provisions  belonging  to  the  Americans.  Colo- 
nel Baum  was  despatched  accordingly  on  this  service  with  a  force 
of  about  six  hundred  men.  Meantime,  however,  General  Stark,  of 
the  New  Hampshire  militia,  hearing  of  Baum's  approach,  marched 
with  two  thousand  men,  hastily  collected,  to  meet  the  British. 
Baum,  on  learning  the  approach  of  Stark,  halted  before  he  reached 


THE   SEIGE  OF   FORT  SCHUYJLER  RAISED.  89 

Bennington  and  sent  back  to  camp  for  reinforcements.  Colonel 
Breyman,  with  five  hundred  men,  was  accordingly  hurried  off  to  his 
assistance.  Before  the  arrival  of  the  latter,  however,  Stark  had 
stormed  Baum  in  his  entrenchments,  and  after  a  desperate  conflict, 
in  which  Baum  fell  mortally  wounded,  had  chased  the  enemy  from 
the  field.  The  militia  dispersed  for  plunder,  when  Breyman  came 
up  and  renewed  the  fight.  Stark  fortunately  was  reinforced,  and 
the  conflict  raged  until  dark,  when  Breyman  abandoned  his  baggage 
and  artillery;  and  fled  with  the  remnant  of  his  force  to  the  British 
camp.  In  this  engagement  the  enemy  lost  about  seven  hundred ; 
the  Americans  but  one  hundred.  Four  brass  field  pieces,  a  thou- 
sand stand  of  arms,  and  nine  hundred  swords  fell  into  the  hands  of 
Stark,  a  supply  very  opportune  at  the  crisis,  and  which  furnished 
many  of  the  weapons  subsequently  used  at  Saratoga  with  such  effect 
against  the  foe. 

While  Burgoyne  had  been  thus  advancing  into  the  heart  of  New 
York,  St.  Leger,  with  the  other  division  of  the  royal  army,  had 
marched  from  lake  Ontario  to  the  Mohawk,  where,  on  the  3rd  of 
August  he  laid  seige  to  fort  Schuyler  with  an  army  of  sixteen  hun- 
dred men,  composed  of  British,  Canadians,  Tories,  and  Indians.  Col. 
Gansevort,  who,  with  six  hundred  men  occupied  the  post,  on  being 
summoned  to  surrender,  replied,  with  the  heroism  of  an  ancient  Ro- 
man, that  he  would  defend  it  to  the  last.  Meantime  Gen.  Herkimer, 
on  the  approach  of  the  British,  hastened  to  raise  the  militia  of  the 
county  of  Tryon  and  fly  to  the  succor  of  Gansevort ;  but  marching 
without  sufficient  circumspection,  he  fell  into  an  ambuscade  of  Bri- 
tish and  savages,  and  was  defeated,  with  the  loss  of  his  own  life  and 
of  four  hundred  of  his  men.  The  victory  of  the  Indians  was  accom- 
panied by  all  the  horrors  of  their  mode  of  warfare  :  they  slaughtered 
the  suppliant  and  the  resisting  alike,  and  after  the  battle  even  but- 
chered the  prisoners  taken  by  their  English  allies.  The  tradition  of 
that  terrible  day  still  survives  in  the  valley  of  the  Mohawk,  and  the 
listener  shudders  as  he  hears  the  tale. 

The  whole  of  Herkimer's  force  would  have  fallen  but  for  a 
diversion  in  his  favor  by  the  garrison,  a  party  of  whom  made  a  bold 
sortie  on  the  British  camp,  which  they  rifled,  and  then  returned  to 
the  fort.  The  British,  however,  avenged  themselves  by  resuming 
the  siege  with  greater  vigor  than  before.  In  this  emergency  Colonel 
Willet  left  the  fort  at  dead  of  night,  passed  stealthily  through  the 
enemy's  camp,  and  traversing  pathless  woods  and  unexplored 
morasses  for  the  space  of  fifty  miles,  reached  the  confines  of  civili- 
zation, and  raised  the  country  to  the  relief  of  the  leagured  place.  In 
12  H* 


90  THE  WAR  OF  INDEPENDENCE. 

this  emergency  Arnold  was  despatched  to  Fort  Schuyler.  On  his 
approach  the  Indians  began  to  be  alarmed,  and  their  terror  being 
heightened  by  a  report  that  Schuyler  had  totally  defeated  Burgoyne, 
they  resolved  to  abandon  St.  Leger,  and  return  to  their  own 
country.  In  vain  the  British  commander  besought  them  to  stay : 
they  were  immoveable  ;  and  in  consequence,  on  the  22nd  of  August, 
St.  Leger  found  himself  forced  to  raise  the  siege.  He  retired  with 
great  precipitancy,  leaving  his  tents,  artillery  and  baggage  in  the 
hands  of  the  garrison.  Arnold,  having  succeeded  in  his  purpose, 
returned  to  Camp  ;  while  St.  Leger  retired  in  confusion  to  Montreal, 
whence  he  soon  set  forth  to  Ticorideroga  to  unite  himself  with 
Burgoyne. 

Thus  one  part  of  this  well  digested  plan  of  invasion  had  already 
failed :  a  combination  of  circumstances  was  insidiously  preparing 
the  ruin  of  the  other.  Prominent  among  these  was  the  want  of 
provisions  for  Burgoyne's  army,  to  which  we  have  already  alluded. 
This  difficulty  increased,  instead  of  diminishing,  as  days  and  weeks 
progressed.  The  failure  of  his  effort  to  relieve  himself  by  the  cap- 
ture of  the  stores  at  Bennington,  threw  a  momentarily  increasing 
cloud  of  despondency  around  his  hopes.  He  began,  for  the  first 
time,  to  appreciate  the  difficulty  of  his  enterprise.  Instead  of  finding 
himself  among  a  friendly,  or  even  indifferent  population,  he  disco- 
vered that  every  step  he  took  only  led  him  further  into  the  heart  of 
a  hostile  community,  from  which  he  could  draw  neither  encourage- 
ment nor  sustenance,  and  where  every  man  he  met  was  irreconci- 
lably his  foe.  In  such  a  country  the  capture  of  its  forts  was  of  little 
real  benefit  to  the  victor.  He  conquered  only  what  he  held.  Though 
the  country  people  every  where  fled  before  him,  yet,  as  fast  as  he 
advanced  they  closed  behind  his  track,  like  a  returning  tide.  Thus 
hemmed  in,  with  an  armed  enemy  in  front,  and  a  hostile  population 
gathering  in  his  rear,  Burgoyne  knew  scarcely  which  way  to  turn : 
his  stout  heart  failed,  his  boastful  confidence  began  to  desert  him, 
and  foreboding  shadows  of  the  future  already  haunted  his  sleep,  and 
deprived  him,  during  the  day,  of  his  habitual  cheerfulness. 

To  add  to  the  peril  of  his  situation,  the  communications  with  his 
rear  were  now  threatened.  General  Lincoln,  having  received  a  force 
of  two  thousand  militia,  instead  of  advancing  directly  to  the  succor 
of  the  American  army,  conceived  the  more  effective  plan  of  attack- 
ing Fort  Ticonderoga  and  the  other  posts  in  Burgoyne's  rear.  His 
enterprise  was  successful  in  every  thing  except  the  capture  of  the 
two  fortresses  of  Independence  and  Ticonderoga.  Mount  Defiance, 
Mount  Hope,  two  hundred  batteaux,  several  gun  boats,  an  armed 


BTTRGOYNE  ENCAMPS  ON  THE   HUDSON. 


91 


BURGOYNE'S  ENCAMPMENT  ON  THE  BANKS  OF  THE  HUDSON. 


sloop,  and  two  hundred  and  ninety  prisoners  were  the  fruits  of  this 
happy  thought.  Besides  this,  one  hundred  American  prisoners  were 
set  at  liberty.  In  this  manner  mesh  after  mesh  of  the  net  destined 
to  enclose  Burgoyne,  was  drawn  around  the  unhappy  English 
General. 

At  last  he  resolved  to  cross  the  Hudson  and  bring  his  enemy  to 
battle,  when,  in  case  of  a  victory,  the  road  to  Albany  would  lie  open, 
and  supplies  be  more  easy  to  be  obtained.  We  cannot  avoid  regard- 
ing this  as  a  military  blunder.  By  advancing  along  the  eastern  shore 
of  the  Hudson,  Burgoyne  would  have  kept  that  river  between  him 
and  the  Americans,  or,  in  case  they  attempted  to  cross  it,  he  could 
have  utterly  routed  them  in  the  endeavor.  By  crossing  to  the 
western  bank  he  lost  these  advantages.  But  his  fate  was  upon 
him.  An  inevitable  destiny  led  him  forward.  Accordingly,  towards 
the  middle  of  September,  he  threw  a  bridge  of  boats  over  the  Hud- 
son, and  passing  his  army  across,  encamped  on  the  heights  of  Sara- 
toga, the  Americans  being  at  Stillwater,  about  three  miles  below. 


92  THE   WAR  OP  INDEPENDENCE. 

In  the  approaching  trial  of  strength  between  the  two  armies,  the 
Americans  were  as  confident  as  the  British  were  dispirited  :  in  this 
respect  the  two  sides  had  changed  situations  since  the  battle  of 
Bennington.  Every  day  saw  new  accessions  of  strength  to  the 
Americans,  for  the  harvest  being  ended,  the  militia  began  to  pour 
into  camp :  and  to  add  to  the  popular  enthusiasm,  General  Gates 
had  just  been  appointed  to  succeed  General  Schuyler,  and  his  name 
alone,  especially  with  the  New  England  soldiers,  was  considered  a 
sure  presage  of  success.  Gates  arrived  in  camp  on  the  21st  of 
August.  Though  Schuyler  felt  keenly  his  own  removal,  and  com- 
plained of  it  eloquently  in  his  letters  to  Washington,  he  still  had  too 
much  patriotism  to  suffer  it  to  cool  his  ardor,  but  nobly  seconded 
his  more  fortunate  rival  with  all  his  powers. 

On  the  1 9th  of  September,  Burgoyne  advanced  to  offer  battle  to 
the  Americans.  His  right  wing,  commanded  by  himself,  rested  on 
the  high  grounds  that  rise  from  the  river ;  the  left  wing,  under 
Generals  Phillips  and  Reidesel,  occupied  the  great  road  and  meadows 
by  the  river  side.  The  American  army  drew  up  in  the  same  order 
from  the  river  to  the  hills,  Gates  taking  command  of  the  right,  and 
giving  the  left  to  Arnold.  Between  the  two  armies,  and  in  front  of 
the  British  right,  Burgoyne  had  thrown  forward  his  Indians. 
Colonel  Morgan,  with  the  American  light  horse,  supported  by  the 
American  light  infantry,  charged  the  savages,  who  fell  back,  but 
being  supported,  they  rallied,  and  with  hideous  yells  drove  Morgan 
back  to  his  original  position.  Burgoyne  now  extended  his  right  wing, 
in  order  to  overlap  Arnold,  and  reach  that  General's  flank  and  rear. 
But  by  one  of  those  coincidences  which  sometimes  happen  amid  the 
turmoil  and  smoke  of  battle,  Arnold,  at  this  very  moment  was  engaged 
in  a  like  manoeuvre  against  Burgoyne.  The  intervening  woods  hid 
the  hostile  troops  from  sight,  until  they  came  suddenly  on  each  other 
at  a  turn  in  the  road.  Surprise  for  a  moment  checked  both  parties, 
when,  the  charge  sounded,  and  they  rushed  madly  on  each  other. 
The  Americans,  after  a  desperate  conflict  gave  ground.  Arnold, 
finding  the  right  flank  of  the  enemy  too  strong  for  him,  now  made  a 
rapid  movement,  and  threw  himself  on  the  left  flank  of  the  same 
wing.  His  onset  was  terrible.  The  British  line  wavered  before  it. 
Encouraging  his  men  with  voice  and  example,  he  raged  in  their 
front,  the  hero  of  the  day.  His  intention  was  to  pierce  the  enemy's 
line,  and  cut  off  the  right  wing  from  the  rest  of  the  British  army. 
To  prevent  this,  successive  reinforcements  were  poured  on  the 
threatened  point ;  but  in  vain :  Gates  hurried  up  new  regiments 
to  back  Arnold ;  and  the  whole  interest  of  the  struggle  was  concen- 


BATTLE    OF    BEHMUS    HEIGHTS.  93 

trated  in  this  one  place,  where  victory  seemed  about  to  declare  for 
the  Americans.  For  four  hours  the  contest  raged  with  unexampled 
fury.  At  last,  night  put  an  end  to  the  combat.  The  royalists  slept 
on  their  arms  on  the  field  of  battle  ;  their  opponents  fell  back.  Both 
parties  claimed  the  victory,  the  English,  for  having  kept  possession 
of  the  scene  of  strife,  the  Americans,  for  having  checked  the  advance 
of  the  foe.  All  the  moral  results  of  a  victory  pertained  to  the  latter 
however,  and  to  them,  therefore,  we  must  award  it.  The  army  of 
Gates  lost  three  hundred  and  thirteen  in  killed  and  wounded  ;  that 
of  Burgoyne,  at  least  six  hundred,  some  writers  say  a  thousand. 
Immediately  after  this  battle,  the  Indian  allies  of  Burgoyne,  becom- 
ing dissatisfied,  abandoned  him,  and  their  example  was  followed 
by  most  of  the  Canadians  and  Tories. 

The  day  after  the  battle  of  Stillwater,  the  English  General 
advanced,  and  took  a  position  within  cannon  shot  of  Gates.  Both 
armies  now  occupied  themselves  in  fortifying  their  respective  camps. 
On  the  21st  of  September,  two  days  after  the  battle,  Burgoyne 
received  a  letter  from  General  Clinton,  dated  on  the  10th,  stating 
that  he  intended  ascending  the  Hudson,  and  attacking  Fort  Mont- 
gomery, but  that  he  could  do  no  more.  Burgoyne  had  hoped  that 
Clinton  would  advance  to  Albany,  and  could  not  conceal  his 
despondency  on  receipt  of  this  news.  He  instantly  despatched 
emissaries  to  his  brother  General,  with  a  full  account  of  his  difficul- 
ties, urging  a  speedy  execution  of  the  proposed  diversion,  and  saying 
that  he  had  provisions  with  which  to  hold  out  until  the  12th  of 
October.  He  waited  until  the  7th  of  October  for  a  reply,  but 
received  none.  Had  prudence,  indeed,  controlled  him,  he  would 
have  retreated  immediately  after  receiving  Clinton's  letter ;  but  hope 
lured  him  on,  while  he  shrank  from  the  disgrace  of  a  retrograde 
movement.  Thus  was  he  hurried  forward  to  his  melancholy 
destiny. 

Not  hearing  from  Clinton,  Burgoyne  resolved  to  attack  the  Ameri- 
can left,  hoping  to  force  a  passage,  which  might  be  made  available 
either  for  an  advance  or  retreat,  as  circumstances  should  afterwards 
recommend.  The  battle  that  ensued  is  known  in  popular  language 
as  the  battle  of  Behmus  Heights.  At  the  head  of  fifteen  hundred 
men,  led  by  himself  in  person,  Burgoyne  advanced  to  execute  his 
movement ;  but  Gates  instantly  penetrating  his  design,  despatched  a 
strong  corps  to  cut  him  off  from  the  main  army.  The  American 
detachment  soon  became  engaged  with  the  left  of  Burgoyne's, 
the  contest  extending  along  to  the  right.  Gates  now  attempted  to 
throw  a  body  of  troops  into  the  enemy's  rear,  so  as  to  prevent  his 


94  THE  WAR  OF  INDEPENDENCE. 

retreat  to  camp.  Burgoyne  perceiving  this,  sent  his  light  infantry  to 
form  a  second  line,  and  cover  him  as  he  fell  back.  He  then  began 
a  retrograde  movement.  Arnold,  with  three  regiments,  instantly 
gave  pursuit.  A  terrible  trial  of  skill  and  strength  now  ensued : 
the  English  struggling  to  reach  their  entrenchments,  the  Americans 
to  cut  them  off.  Arnold  was  never  greater  than  on  that  day.  Gal- 
lopping  fiercely  to  and  fro,  between  his  own  troops  and  those  of  the 
enemy,  he  stimulated  them,  by  his  voice,  and  by  his  heroic  courage, 
to  the  highest  pitch  of  enthusiasm.  For  a  while,  Burgoyne  regarded 
the  day  as  lost.  General  Frazer,  his  friend  and  counsellor,  had  fallen 
mortally  wounded,  while  endeavoring  to  check  the  onset  of  Arnold. 
The  entrenchments  were  still  at  some  distance :  the  Americans 
threatened  to  reach  them  first.  At  last,  Burgoyne  abandoned  his 
artillery,  and  leaving  a  frightful  array  of  killed  and  wounded,  shew- 
ing the  path  by  which  he  had  retreated,  made  a  last,  and  successful 
effort  to  gain  the  desired  entrenchments.  But  even  here  he  was  not 
safe.  Arnold  still  thundered  in  pursuit.  The  American  General, 
fired  with  the  resistless  fury  and  courage  of  another  Achilles, 
came  raging  to  the  front  of  the  lines,  and  without  pause,  and  amid  a 
tempest  of  grape  drifting  into  his  face,  dashed  up  to  the  assault 
Everything  yielded  before  him.  He  had  almost  carried  the  works 
by  storm,  when  a  shot  struck  him  in  the  leg,  and  he  was  forced  to 
retire  from  the  field.  His  men,  however,  still  possessed  with  the 
fury  to  which  he  had  excited  them,  continued  the  attack.  Night  at 
last  fell,  and  checked  the  sanguinary  struggle. 

In  another  quarter  the  enemy  was  even  more  unfortunate.  While 
Arnold  had  been  driving  the  British  in  terror  and  haste  before  him, 
Colonel  Brooks,  with  a  corps  of  Americans,  had  turned  the  extreme 
right  of  Burgoyne's  encampment,  and  carried  the  works  there  by 
storm,  notwithstanding  a  desperate  resistance  made  by  Colonel  Brey- 
man,  who  occupied  them  with  the  German  reserve.  Breyman, 
himself,  was  mortally  wounded.  The  tents,  artillery,  and  baggage 
fell  into  the  hands  of  the  Americans,  who  established  themselves  in 
the  entrenchment,  and  there  spent  the  night.  And  as  the  guards 
went  their  rounds  in  their  new  possession,  they  saw,  near  at  hand, 
the  dark  shadows  of  the  English  host,  and  eagerly  longed  for  the 
dawn  to  renew  the  fray. 

But  Burgoyne  feared  to  tempt  fortune  again.  He  had  suffered 
terribly,  and  lost  immense  stores.  His  troops  were  disheartened. 
His  position  was  no  longer  tenable.  Accordingly,  in  the  night,  he 
changed  his  ground  to  the  heights  in  his  rear.  In  this  strong  post 
Gates  refused  to  attack  him,  for  he  now  thought  himself  certain  to 


BURGOYNE  RETREATS  TO  SARATOGA. 


95 


reduce  his  enemy  by  starvation :  he  accordingly  confined  himself  on 
the  8th  to  a  distant  cannonade,  which  the  enemy  warmly  returned. 
It  was  during  this  fire,  that  General  Lincoln  was  wounded  in  the  leg. 
Several  skirmishes  took  place  in  the  course  of  the  day.  Towards 
evening,  the  British  proceeded,  with  melancholy  hearts,  to  the  obse- 
quies of  General  Frazer.  With  slow  steps  and  sad  countenances, 
his  late  associates  followed  him  to  the  grave :  their  regret  for  the 
deceased  being  combined  with  anxious  solicitude  for  their  own 


BURGOYITE'S  RETREAT  TO  SARATOGA. 


future.  To  add  to  the  terrors  of  the  scene,  the  American  batteries, 
during  the  whole  evening,  filled  the  darkness  with  their  blaze  and 
roar ;  while  at  every  moment  the  balls  fell  around,  and  spattered 
earth  in  the  faces  of  the  chaplain  and  spectators. 

Gates  now  made  preparations  for  throwing  a  strong  corps  into 
Burgoyne's  rear.  The  latter,  perceiving  this,  abandoned  his  hospital 
to  the  mercy  of  the  victor,  and  retreated  to  Saratoga,  nine  miles  dis- 
tant, where  he  arrived  on  the  10th.  A  drenching  rain  pursued  him 
nearly  the  whole  way.  Gloom  and  despondency,  from  this  hour, 


96  THE  WAR  OF  INDEPENDENCE. 

made  a  prey  of  the  British  army.  The  men  had  lost  all  confidence 
in  themselves :  they  were  half-starved,  wet  through,  wounded 
and  sore.  Their  leaders  saw  no  gleam  of  hope,  and  met  each  other 
with  melancholy  looks.  There  was  no  word  of  Clinton.  The 
Americans  already  had  seized  the  fords  in  the  rear,  so  that  escape 
was  impossible.  The  net  had  been  drawn  closer  and  closer,  until 
now  the  victim  scarcely  found  room  to  turn ;  every  avenue  blocked 
up,  every  hope  of  succor  gone,  Burgoyne  was  a  subject  of  pity, 
rather  than  of  hate.  With  secret  tears,  his  proud  soul  saw  all  his 
visions  of  glory  vanished  ;  and  no  resource  left  but  a  step  only  less 
bitter  than  death  itself.  This  was  a  surrender,  now  inevitable. 
Accordingly,  on  the  1 3th,  a  communication  was  opened  with  Gates, 
and  on  the  16th,  terms  of  capitulation  were  signed.  The  English, 
to  the  number  of  nearly  six  thousand,  surrendered  themselves  pri- 
soners of  war.  By  the  stipulations  of  the  articles  the  British  were 
to  march  out  of  their  encampment  with  the  honors  of  war  :  to  stack 
their  arms  by  command  of  their  own  officers,  who  were  to  retain 
their  side-arms :  the  men  not  to  serve  against  the  United  States  until 
exchanged,  though  to  be  permitted  to  embark  for  England  or 
Germany. 

These  were  more  favorable  terms  than  would  have  been  granted, 
had  not  Gates  heard  of  the  advance  of  Clinton  to  Fort  Montgomery, 
and  the  fall  of  that  place,  which  had  taken  place  a  few  days  before. 
In  fact,  the  British  General  had  reduced  all  the  forts  on  the  lower 
Hudson,  and  was  now  opening  the  way  to  Albany :  but  on  hearing 
of  Burgoyne's  surrender,  he  retired  again  to  New  York.  Thus  ended 
the  expedition  from  Canada,  on  which  the  British  ministry  had 
placed  such  reliance.  On  the  day  of  the  capitulation,  the  American 
army  numbered  fifteen  thousand  men,  of  whom  nearly  ten  thousand 
were  regulars :  the  English  five  thousand,  seven  hundred  and  nine- 
ty-one, the  remains  of  the  splendid  army  of  nine  thousand,  with  which 
Burgoyne  had  left  Ticonderoga.  Even  of  these,  but  three  thousand 
five  hundred,  were  capable  fighting  men. 

The  fall  of  Burgoyne  was  received  with  a  burst  of  enthusiastic 
applause  from  one  end  of  the  confederacy  to  the  other.  The  popu- 
lar mind,  overlooking  the  true  causes  of  his  defeat,  attributed  all  to 
the  genius  and  courage  of  Gates,  who  was  immediately  lauded  as 
the  first  of  living  Generals.  No  reward  was  considered  too  great  for 
him.  Congress  voted  him  immediately  a  gold  medal.  Gates  suffered 
himself  to  be  carried  away  by  this  extravagant  popularity.  Of 
unequal  mind,  he  became  too  exhilirated  by  success,  as  in  defeat  he 
was  too  depressed :  he  began  now  to  form  the  loftiest  ideas  of  his  own 


AMERICAN    ARMY    AT    VALLEY    FORGE.  97 

capacity  and  merits,  grew  over-confident,  trusted  too  much  to  the 
terror  of  his  name,  and  despising  prudence  and  foresight,  brought 
on  himself  at  no  distant  day,  defeat,  humiliation  and  ruin. 

With  far  different  sentiments  was  the  news  of  Burgoyne's  defeat 
received  in  England.  Consternation  seized  even  the  warmest  advo- 
cates of  the  war ;  all  foresaw  that  France  would  now  ally  herself 
to  the  colonies.  The  middle  ranks,  heretofore  almost  unanimous  in 
support  of  the  ministers,  became  alarmed  at  the  prospect  of  a  pro- 
tracted war  and  an  increase  of  taxes.  The  minister  himself  saw 
that  the  cause  was  virtually  lost,  and  hastening  to  the  king  tendered 
his  resignation.  In  that  crisis,  George  the  Third  had  it  in  his  power 
to  have  averted  the  further  horrors  of  war,  the  increase  of  his  peo- 
ple's burdens,  and  the  execrations  with  which  impartial  history 
must  load  his  name.  But  instead  of  listening  to  the  remonstrances 
of  Lord  North,  he  laid  his  commands  on  that  nobleman  to  remain 
in  office  and  prosecute  the  war.  Never  was  a  more  obstinate  man 
than  the  then  sovereign  of  Great  Britain :  never  one  possessing 
higher  notions  of  kingly  prerogative,  or  more  at  heart  a  tyrant.  The 
minister  to  his  own  disgrace,  consented.  For  a  period  of  four  more 
years,  blood  and  havoc  devastated  America  ;  of  all  which  the  awful 
responsibility  rests  on  the  head  of  the  monarch.  Is  it  going  too  far 
to  assert  that  in  the  miseries  of  his  future  life :  in  the  ingratitude  of 
his  heir,  in  the  commotions  arising  from  the  French  revolution,  and 
in  his  own  subsequent  blindness  and  insanity,  a  retributive  Provi- 
dence worked  out,  in  part,  his  punishment  ? 

The  close  of  the  year  1777,  found  the  British  army  comfortably 
quartered  in  Philadelphia,  while  the  Americans  lay  at  Valley  Forge 
enduring  every  inclemency  of  the  season.  To  this  latter  place  Wash- 
ington had  retired  from  White  Marsh,  his  troops  frequently  tracking 
the  ground  with  blood  from  their  bare  feet.  At  Valley  Forge  they 
constructed  rude  log  huts,  in  which  they  braved  one  of  the  most  icy 
winters  on  record ;  sleeping  usually  without  beds,  blankets,  or  even 
straw.  But  few  of  the  men  had  a  whole  garment :  half  a  shirt  was 
more  frequent  than  a  whole  one  :  overcoats  were  almost  entirely 
wanting.  To  add  to  their  sufferings  provisions  became  scarce.  The 
neighboring  farmers,  attracted  by  the  gold  given  in  exchange  for 
their  products  by  the  British,  while  the  Americans  had  nothing  to 
offer  but  continental  money,  constantly  depreciating  in  price,  flocked 
to  Philadelphia ;  and  the  army  at  Valley  Forge  might  have  starved 
but  for  the  energy  of  Washington,  who,  exercising  the  dictatorial 
powers  conferred  on  him  by  Congress,  seized  the  necessary  provi- 
sions by  force,  and  continued  thus  to  supply  his  camp  until,  through 
13  I 


98 


THE   WAR  OF  INDEPENDENCE. 


the  exertions  of  the  commissary  department,  succors  were  brought 
from  Connecticut  and  other  places  at  a  distance.  The  horrors  of  the 
winter  were  increased  by  a  contagious  fever,  which,  arising  origi- 
nally from  scarcity  of  food  and  clothing,  broke  out  in  the  camp  and 
daily  swept  numbers  to  the  grave.  It  is  computed  that  of  seventeen 
thousand  men,  the  numerical  force  of  the  army,  there  were  at  no 
time  during  this  awful  winter,  more  than  five  thousand  fit  for  duty. 


ENCAMPMENT  AT  VALLEY  FORGE. 


So  alarming  a  condition  of  things,  if  known  to  its  full  extent  by 
Howe,  would  infallibly  have  brought  him  out  from  his  quarters  at 
Philadelphia  to  attack  Washington.  But  the  latter,  by  keeping 
parties  actively  employed  in  harassing  the  outposts  of  the  British, 
and  by  circulating  exaggerated  stories  of  his  strength,  continued  to 
alarm  the  prudence  of  the  English  commander  and  ensure  repose 
for  his  own  harassed  troops. 

But  Washington  had  not  only  to  combat  distress  in  camp,  and 
keep  a  wary  eye  on  a  powerful  foe  without :  domestic  intrigue  in 
his  own  army,  and  even  in  his  military  family,  was  busying  herself 
to  ruin  him  in  the  estimation  of  the  people.  From  the  beginning  of 
the  war  there  had  been  a  party  in  Congress,  chiefly  New  En- 
glanders,  who  viewed  with  jealousy  the  elevation  of  a  Virginian  to 
the  supreme  command ;  and  to  these  were  now  added  a  knot  of 
discontented  military  spirits,  who  complained  loudly  of  what  they 
called  the  criminal  inactivity  of  Washington,  and,  under  the  guise 
of  seeking  to  advance  the  interests  of  the  country  by  the  substitution 
of  a  more  able  chief,  intrigued  in  reality  to  advance  themselves. 
Among  the  most  prominent  of  these  men  were  Generals  Conway 


RESIGNATION  OF  HOWE.  99 

and  Mifflin,  the  former  a  foreigner,  the  latter  a  Pennsylvanian. 
Gates  was  the  person  they  aimed 'to  place  in  the  office  of  commander 
in  chief.  The  latter  was  secretly  a  friend  to  the  intrigue ;  and 
hoped  that  his  late  victory  would  smooth  the  road  to  his  elevation. 
Among  other  base  plots  of  this  faction,  was  one  intended  to  separate 
La  Fayette  from  Washington ;  and  for  this  purpose  they  procured 
Congress  to  project,  without  consulting  the  General,  another  expe- 
dition against  Canada,  the  command  of  which  was  to  be  given  to 
the  Marquis.  The  plot  failed,  however,  and  the  enterprise  was 
abandoned.  The  machinations  of  these  bad  spirits  coming  to  light, 
the  popular  voice  broke  out  into  such  loud  expressions  of  indigna- 
tion, and  the  esteem  of  Washington  among  the  best  citizens,  was 
found  so  much  to  exceed  their  belief,  that  the  conspirators  abandoned 
their  scheme  in  chagrin.  Happy  for  the  cause  of  independence  was 
this  failure,  as  the  subsequent  incompetency  of  Gates  proved.  There 
is  no  part  of  Washington's  career  which  exhibits  his  character  in  a 
nobler  aspect  than  his  manly  and  high  minded  conduct  during  this 
crisis :  though  conscious  of  the  injustice  of  Congress,  he  was  too 
elevated  in  soul  to  allow  irritation  or  anger  to  aifect  his  conduct ; 
but  serene  and  high,  he  bore  himself  above  the  petty  weaknesses 
of  our  frail  human  nature,  continuing  in  all  things  to  exercise  his 
duties  as  if  nothing  base  or  ungrateful  had  been  plotted  against  him. 

On  the  contrary,  it  was  during  this  very  period,  that  he  exposed 
himself  to  the  animadversions  of  Congress,  by  beseiging  their  doors 
with  letters  and  remonstrances  in  favor  of  awarding  half  pay  for  life 
to  the  officers  who  should  serve  during  the  war.  He  was  actuated 
to  this  course  by  a  sincere  conviction  of  its  justice.  Many  of  the 
best  officers  had  no  income  but  their  pay,  and  as  this  was  received 
in  depreciated  continental  bills,  they  did  not  enjoy  enough  to  support 
themselves,  much  less  their  absent  families.  Civilians,  in  the  mean- 
time, were  making  a  comfortable  subsistence  in  comparative  ease. 
These  considerations  induced  many  to  resign,  the  best  and  ablest 
being  invariably  the  first  disgusted.  The  evil  threatened  to  disband 
the  army.  In  this  emergency  Washington  recommended  the  system 
of  half  pay  for  life,  as  a  premium  on  continuing  in  the  army  to  the 
end  of  the  contest.  This  advice,  though  at  first  received  with  cold- 
ness, was  finally  adopted  in  part,  and  half  pay  for  seven  years  was 
voted  to  the  officers,  to  count  from  the  close  of  the  war. 

The  spring  of  1778  opened  with  the  resignation  of  Howe,  and 
his  return  to  England,  where,  in  consequence  of  current  rumors 
against  his  incapacity,  he  demanded  an  enquiry  into  his  conduct  in 
Parliament.  The  investigation  ended  in  nothing.  Howe's  chief 


100  THE   WAR  OF    INDEPENDENCE. 

complaint  against  the  ministry  was  that  they  refused  to  comply  with 
his  requisitions  for  troops,  but  persisted  in  the  error,  which  he  early 
warned  them  against,  of  believing  that  large  numbers  of  loyalists 
could  be  recruited  in  America.  The  truth  was,  that  ignorance,  ob- 
stinacy and  incapacity  were,  throughout  this  whole  conflict,  charac- 
teristics of  the  English  Cabinet.  Howe  was  right  in  his  strictures  : 
he  never  had  enough  men  for  his  purposes.  That  he  was  not  a 
great  military  genius ;  that  he  frequently  erred  on  the  side  of 
prudence ;  are  facts  not  to  be  denied.  But  the  opinion  of  his  merits 
rises  when  we  consider  that  he  effected  more  than  any  of  his 
successors.  In  reality,  America,  from  the  stubbornness  of  the 
patriots,  and  the  impracticable  character  of  the  country,  was  uncon- 
querable :  it  was  not  in  human  intellect  to  overcome  her :  hence  the 
failures  of  the  English  Generals,  and  hence,  too,  the  recriminations 
between  the  ministry  and  the  disgusted  leaders. 

On  the  6th  of  February,  1778,  treaties  of  amity  and  commerce, 
and  of  alliance  with  the  United  States,  were  entered  into  by  the 
king  of  France.  This  event,  long  procrastinated,  had  been  deter- 
mined finally  by  the  capture  of  Burgoyne.  Hitherto  France  had 
held  back,  secretly  aiding  the  Americans,  but  refusing  openly  to 
espouse  their  cause  :  her  wish  being  to  strengthen  herself  for  a  war 
if  it  should  occur,  and  to  avoid  one  unless  a  compromise  between 
England  and  her  colonies  became  impossible.  On  the  2nd  of  May 
Silas  Deane  arrived  in  Philadelphia  with  copies  of  the  treaties. 
Congress  immediately  ratified  them,  amid  the  universal  joy  of  the 
country.  In  the  treaty  of  alliance  it  was  declared  that  if  war  should 
break  out  between  England  and  France,  during  the  continuance  of 
the  one  now  existing  with  the  United  States,  it  should  be  made 
common  cause  :  and  that  neither  of  the  contracting  parties  should 
conclude  either  truce  or  peace  with  great  Britain,  without  the  formal 
consent  of  the  other.  Moreover,  they  mutually  engaged  not  to  lay 
down  their  arms,  until  the  independence  of  the  United  States  should 
have  been  formally,  or  tacitly,  assured,  by  the  treaty  or  treaties  that 
should  terminate  the  war.  A  separate  and  secret  article  reserved 
to  the  King  of  Spain  the  right  to  become  a  party  to  the  treaty  of 
amity  an$  commerce,  and  to  that  of  alliance,  at  such  time  as  he 
should  think  proper. 

Not,  however,  to  abandon  all  hope  of  accommodation,  or  rather 
as  a  blind  to  the  country  members,  Lord  North  proposed  in  Parlia- 
ment new  terms  of  conciliation  with  America.  He  moved  a  resolu- 
tion that  in  future  England  would  abandon  the  right  to  lay  any  tax 
or  duty  on  the  colonies,  except  such  as  was  beneficial  to  commerce, 


TERMS  OF  CONCILIATION. 


101 


SIGMN'G    THE  TREATY    OF   ALLIANCE   AT    PARIS. 


and  it  only  to  be  collected  under  the  authority  of  the  respective 
provinces,  and  for  their  use  and  advantage.  Five  commissioners 
were  appointed  to  treat  with  the  colonies,  with  powers  to  suspend 
all  laws  passed  since  the  10th  of  February,  1763,  and  to  grant 
armistices  and  pardons.  The  departure  of  these  commissioners  was 
hastened  in  consequence  of  the  alliance  with  France.  They  arrived 
in  America  late  in  the  spring,  and  immediately  began  to  circulate 
copies  of  the  conditions  of  compromise.  Congress  answered  these 
papers  by  a  report,  which  was  ordered  to  be  published  with  them. 
In  this  report  the  people  were  warned  against  this  new  and  insidious 
attempt  of  England  to  destroy  that  union  by  which  alone  the  liber- 
ties of  America  could  be  achieved.  A  resolution  of  Congress  was 
appended,  declaring  that  the  withdrawal  of  the  British  forces,  or  the 
acknowledgment  of  the  independence  of  the  states,  were  indispensa- 
ble preliminaries  to  any  treaty.  This  report  and  resolution  were 
received  with  general  applause.  The  alliance  with  France  had 
convinced  the  most  timid  that  success  must  eventually  crown  the 
efforts  of  the  confederation.  The  loyalists  began  to  waver :  some 


102  THE  WAR  OP  INDEPENDENCE. 

4 

even  came  forward  and  took  the  oaths  to  the  new  government.  The 
storm  was  already  breaking  away  :  the  clouds  rolled  westward :  and 
through  the  broken  gaps,  which  momentarily  increased,  gleamed  in 
the  distance  the  star  of  peace. 

The  French,  almost  immediately  after  entering  into  their  treaty 
of  alliance,  resolved  to  send  a  fleet  to  America ;  and  accordingly, 
on  the  13th  of  April,  the  Count  d'Estaing,  with  a  large  squadron, 
departed  from  France.  The  English  ministry  suspecting  such  a 
movement,  and  fearing  that  the  French  might  embarrass  Clinton  by 
obtaining  command  of  the  Delaware,  sent  out  instructions  to  him  to 
evacuate  Philadelphia  and  fall  back  upon  New  York.  In  conse- 
quence, on  the  18th  of  June,  the  royal" General  abandoned  forever 
the  capital  whose  possession  had  cost  so  much  blood.  Expecting  to 
find  the  population  of  New  Jersey  hostile,  he  took  with  him  suffi- 
cient provisions  for  the  whole  retreat:  this  encumbered  him  with  a 
long  train  of  wagons,  which  rendered  his  progress  necessarily  slow. 
Washington,  on  receiving  certain  intelligence  of  this  movement, 
broke  up  his  camp  at  Valley  Forge  and  began  a  pursuit.  He  was 
exceedingly  anxious  to  attack  the  enemy,  but  his  opinion  in  favor 
of  a  battle  was  over-ruled  in  a  council  of  officers  ;  Lee,  who  had  just 
been  exchanged  for  Prescott,  taking  a  prominent  lead  in  opposition, 
and  contending  that  the  want  of  discipline  among  the  Americans 
rendered  the  experiment  too  hazardous.  Washington,  however, 
followed  the  enemy  cautiously,  holding  the  power  to  give  or  refuse 
battle,  as  he  chose.  At  last,  on  the  27th  of  June,  the  British  army 
encamped  at  Monmouth.  The  heights  of  Middletown  were  but  a  few 
miles  distant,  and  if  Clinton  once  reached  there,  it  would  be  impos- 
sible to  attack  him.  In  this  crisis  Washington  resolved  to  give 
battle,  notwithstanding  the  adverse  opinion  of  his  officers. 

The  advanced  division  of  the  Americans  had  been  confided  to  La 
Fayette,  Lee  having  refused  it ;  but  subsequently  he  changed  his 
mind,  and  desired  the  command,  which  was  generously  yielded  to 
him.  Washington,  on  the  evening  of  the  27th,  gave  him  orders  to 
attack  the  enemy  on  the  ensuing  day,  unless  there  were  powerful 
reasons  to  the  contrary.  Accordingly,  on  the  28th,  Lee  put  his 
columns  into  motion  to  obey  this  command.  The  van  of  the  British, 
led  by  Knyphausen,  had  started  at  day-break,  but  Clinton,  with  the 
rear,  remained  until  eight  o'clock  on  the  heights  where  they  had 
encamped  the  preceding  night.  In  the  meantime,  Knyphausen  had 
advanced  some  miles,  and  Clinton  could  just  see  his  dark  columns  in 
the  distance,  the  intermediate  space  being  occupied  by  long  trains  of 
wagons  toiling  through  the  sandy  plains.  Clouds  of  dust  hung  over 


BATTLE    OF    MONMOUTH.  103 

* 

the  prospect,  for  the  day  was  already  intolerably  hot,  with  scarcely 
the  slightest  breeze  stirring.  The  design  of  Washington  was  to 
let  Lee  assail  Clinton  in  the  rear,  while  Morgan  and  Dickenson 
should  attack  his  right  and  left  flanks,  in  the -hope  to  cut  him  off  from 
his  baggage.  But  Clinton,  penetrating  this  design,  resolved  to  face 
on  Lee,  arid  make  so  vigorous  an  assault,  that  it  would  be  necessary 
for  the  Americans  to  recall  Morgan  and  Diekenson.  The  plan  was 
well  conceived,  and  executed  with  boldness.  Wheeling  on  Lee,  the 
British  General  advanced  impetuously  to  the  charge,  his  artillery 
and  dragoons  moving  gallantly  before  him.  Lee  little  expected  to 
find  Clinton  so  ready  for  the  combat,  or  in  such  force ;  neverthe- 
less, he  began  to  form  his  line  in  order  to  receive  the  enemy.  But 
at  this  moment,  through  a  mistake,  one  of  his  subordinates,  fell  back 
wilh  a  portion  of  the  troops,  across  a  morass  in  their  rear ;  and  Lee, 
already  doubtful  whether  it  was  prudent  to  engage,  suffered  this 
incident  to  decide  him,  and  began  a  retreat.  His  way  lay  along 
a  valley,  about  three  miles  long  and  one  wide,  broken  by  woods, 
hillocks,  and  patches  of  swampy  ground.  He  had  already  retired 
some  distance,  the  British  pursuing  with  animation,  and  yet  he  saw 
no  position  where  he  thought  it  advisable  to  make  a  stand.  In  fact, 
having  been  opposed  to  a  battle  from  the  first,  he  scarcely  regretted 
that  events  had  happened  to  justify  his  opinion.  He  still,  there- 
fore, continued  retreating. 

Washington,  however,  was  in  a  situation  exactly  the  reverse.  He 
had  recommended  a  battle  :  he  had  even  brought  one  on  against  the 
opinions  of  his  officers.  His  good  name,  in  a  measure,  depended  on 
success.  Yet  he  had  arranged  his  plans  so  skilfully,  that  he  scarcely 
entertained  a  doubt  of  victory.  On  the  first  sound  of  firing,  he  hastened 
forward,  at  the  head  of  the  rear-guard,  so  eager  to  join  the  fray  that 
he  directed  the  soldiers  to  cast  away  their  knapsacks.  Suddenly,  a 
horseman,  covered  with  dust,  his  animal  white  with  foam,  dashed 
up,  and  announced  that  Lee  was  in  full  retreat.  Astonishment  and 
indignation  flashed  across  Washington's  countenance  :  for  a  moment, 
perhaps,  he  suspected  treachery  :  plunging  his  spurs  into  his  horse's 
sides,  he  galloped  furiously  forward.  It  was  not  long  before  he 
met  Lee.  Addressing  that  officer  with  anger,  he  demanded  the 
cause  of  the  flight.  But  instantly  reflecting  that  the  occasion  was 
one  for  action,  not  for  words,  he  proceeded  to  use  his  voice  and 
example  to  cheek  the  retreat.  It  was  necessary,  first  of  all,  to  arrest 
the  impetuous  career  of  the  British,  and  for  this  purpose,  two  bat- 
talions were  placed  on  the  left,  behind  a  clump  of  woods,  to  receive 
the  first  shock  of  the  enemy.  Washington,  after  this,  directing  Lee 


104  THE    WAR    OP    INDEPENDENCE. 

to  make  good  his  position  at  all  hazards,  hurried  back  to  bring  up 
the  rear-guard.  Lee,  stung  by  the  reproaches  of  the  General,  now 
made  the  most  desperate  efforts  to  rally  his  troops.  He  succeeded 
in  part.  For  a  while  the  English  were  checked.  But  the  splendid 
grenadiers  of  Cornwallis,  inflamed  at  this  unexpected  rebuff,  now 
advanced  to  the  charge,  their  polished  muskets  gleaming  out,  at 
broken  intervals,  through  the  dust  and  smoke  of  that  sultry  battle- 
field, like  lightning  playing  in  a  thunder-cloud.  Their  loud  huzzas 
rent  the  air  as  they  charged  at  quick  pace :  and  the  Americans, 
overpowered,  once  more  began  to  retreat. 

The  contest  had  now  raged  along  an  extent  of  three  miles  or 
more.  The  day  had  progressed  to  noon,  and  the  air  was  hot  and 
suffocating.  Many  of  the  men  in  both  armies,  had  fallen  dead  from 
the  heat.  It  was  the  Sabbath  day,  and  all  nature  was  quiet.  Tihe 
leaves  hung  motionless  on  the  trees  ;  no  laborers  disturbed  the  fields 
with  rural  sounds :  far  away,  along  the  line  of  the  hills,  the  atmos- 
phere seemed  to  boil  in  the  sun's  vertical  rays.  Yet  Washington, 
haunted  by  the  thought  of  impending  disaster,  saw  nothing  of  these 
things ;  all  was  uproar  and  tumult  in  his  soul,  as  on  the  battle-field ; 
strange  contrast  with  the  peacefulness  of  nature !  Riding  at  the 
head,  he  hurried  the  rear-guard  forward  with  impetuous  haste,  and 
speedily  met  Lee,  now  unavoidably  retreating.  Instantly  room  was 
made  for  the  fugitives  to  pass  to  the  rear,  while  the  fresh  troops 
were  brought  promptly  and  skilfully  into  action.  One  detachment 
was  placed  in  a  neighboring  wood  ;  another,  on  a  hill  to  the  left ;  and 
the  remaining,  and  largest,  in  the  centre,  boldly  facing  the  enemy. 
Lord  Stirling,  with  a  battery  of  guns,  was  sent  to  support  the  first, 
on  the  hill  to  the  left.  These  dispositions  had  scarcely  been  made, 
before  Greene  arrived  at  the  scene.  He  enjoyed  the  command  of 
the  right  wing  on  that  day,  and  had  at  first  advanced  considerably, 
but  on  hearing  of  Lee's  retreat,  had  thought  it  prudent  to  fall  back. 
Coming  up  opportunely  at  this  crisis,  he  took  a  strong  position  on  an 
elevation  to  Lord  Stirling's  right,  and  having  with  him  Knox's  bat- 
tery of  artillery,  he  speedily  unlimbered  the  guns,  and  began  to  open 
with  vigor  and  accuracy  on  the  foe.  Lord  Stirling's  pieces  seconded 
him  from  the  other  part  of  the  field :  and  soon  the  ground  shook 
with  incessant  explosions. 

The  British  had  been  checked  in  front  by  the  very  first  of  these 
dispositions.  But,  unwilling  to  yield  the  victory,  they  changed  their 
point  of  attack,  and  attempted  to  turn  the  left  flank  of  the  Ameri- 
cans :  repulsed  here,  they  wheeled  like  a  lion  baffled  in  the  ring,  and 
essayed  to  surround  the  right  of  the  foe ;  but  this  was  the  period  of 


THE   BATTLE   OF   MONMOUTH. 


105 


SIR   HENRY   CLINTON. 


time  when  Knox  had  just  planted  his  battery,  and  the  well  served 
pieces  opened  whole  lanes  through  the  masses  of  the  foe.  The  dust 
and  smoke  combined,  at  this  point  of  the  strife,  for  a  moment  con- 
cealed the  enemy  from  the  Americans.  All  at  once  the  canopy 
lifted  and  the  British  were  beheld  falling  back.  Washington  saw 
it :  his  heart  thrilled  with  anticipated  victory:  the  moment  had  come 
when  a  vigorous  stroke  would  turn  the  scales  of  battle.  He  ordered 
up  Wayne,  with  his  tried  veterans,  to  charge  the  confused  ranks  of 
the  «nemy.  Launching  his  infantry  like  a  thunderbolt  on  the  foe, 
that  headlong  officer  carried  dismay  and  terror  every  where  before 
him.  The  story  of  the  battle  was  reversed.  The  British  were  in 
fall  retrea* 
14 


106  THE   WAR   OF  INDEPENDENCE. 

Clinton,  however,  still  desperately  disputing  the  fray,  rallied  his 
men  on  the  same  ground  where  Lee  had  made  his  first  halt.  Here 
his  flanks  were  covered  by  woods  and  deep  morasses :  while  his 
front  was  defended  by  a  ravine,  crossed  only  by  a  single  narrow 
pass.  Washington  followed  him  up,  and  the  action  bagan  anew. 
But  the  day  had  been  consumed  in  this  succession  of  terrible  strug- 
gles, and  night  now  approaching,  the  firing  on  both  sides  gradually 
ceased.  In  fact,  the  troops  of  either  army  were  completely  exhausted. 
At  the  welcome  order  to  desist,  the  men  flung  themselves  on  the 
ground  panting  for  breath,  or  eagerly  sought  water  to  allay  their 
burning  thirst.  The  night  continued  intensely  hot.  Scarcely  a 
breath  of  air  arose  to  cool  the  fevered  Americans,  and  for  hours 
they  tossed  on  the  ground  courting  sleep  in  vain.  Slowly  the  dust 
settled  once  more  on  the  plain.  The  moon,  now  in  her  fourth  quar- 
ter, soon  set,  and  for  a  while  there  was  comparative  darkness.  Then 
the  stars  came  out  on  a  sky,  again  blue  and  unshrouded  ;  the  dew, 
beginning  to  fall,  rendered  the  atmosphere  more  refreshing ;  and  the 
soldiers,  worn  out  by  excitement,  finally  sunk  one  by  one  to  slum- 
ber, Washington  reposing  in  their  midst,  extended  on  the  uncovered 
ground. 

Thus  ended  the  most  memorable  battle  of  the  revolution.  It  was 
fought  within  a  few  days  of  the  summer  solstice,  and  with  the  ther- 
mometer at  ninety ;  the  only  strife  of  a  like  character  recorded  in 
history.  Its  result  was  a  virtual  defeat  of  Clinton.  At  the  first, 
victory  had  inclined  decidedly  for  the  British ;  but  the  skill  and 
resolution  of  Washington  changed  the  fortunes  of  the  day.  The 
Americans,  in  this  battle,  lost  sixty-nine  killed,  and  one  hun- 
dred and  forty  wounded :  the  British  had  nearly  three  hundred 
killed,  besides  an  equal  number  wounded.  But  their  principal 
diminution  of  numbers  occurred  after  the  battle,  when  hundreds 
deserted  to  settle  peaceably  among  the  people  they  had  come  to 
conquer. 

On  the  morning  succeeding  the  strife,  Washington  had  resolved  to 
renew  the  battle,  but  Clinton  silently  decamped  in  the  night  and 
gained  the  heights  of  Middletown.  The  American  General  thought 
nothing  was  to  be  gained  now  by  a  pursuit,  and  accordingly  the 
English  embarked  in  safety  at  Sandy  Hook.  On  the  1st  of  July, 
Washington  advanced  to  the  Hudson,  and  took  up  a  favorable 
position  to  watch  the  enemy  now  in  force  in  New  York. 

General  Lee,  of  an  irascible  and  revengeful  mind,  could  ill-brook 
the  expressions  Washington  had  used  towards  him  during  the  battle. 
He  brooded  over  what  he  thought  his  injuries,  and  finally  wrote 


INDIAN  MASSACRES.  107 

two  improper  letters  to  his  superior.  The  consequence  was  a  court 
martial,  which  suspended  him  for  one  year. 

The  remaining  events  of  1778,  may  be  told  in  a  few  words.  The 
Count  d'Estaing  arrived  off  Virginia  early  in  July,  when,  being 
informed  that  Lord  Howe  had  left  the  Delaware,  he  pursued  that 
officer  to  New  York.  Here,  however,  he  could  not  get  his  ships 
over  the  bar,  owing  to  the  want  of  water.  He  now,  at  Washing- 
ton's suggestion,  proceeded  to  Rhode  Island,  to  unite  with  General 
Sullivan  in  the  reduction  of  the  British  army,  six  thousand  strong, 
which  was  stationed  at  Newport.  Sullivan  was  at  the  head  of  a  force 
of  ten  thousand  men,  chiefly  militia,  and  was  exceedingly  anxious  to 
succeed  in  the  enterprise,  for  though  a  laborious,  he  had  been  an 
unfortunate  officer,  and  he  now  fancied  he  had  a  chance  to  achieve 
something  brilliant  at  last.  The  9th  of  August  was  selected  for  a 
combined  attack  on  the  British  lines.  But  on  that  day,  Howe 
appearing  off  the  harbor,  d'Estaing  put  to  sea  to  give  him  chase. 
Sullivan  waited  in  vain  for  his  ally's  return  until  the  14th,  when  he 
laid  siege  alone  to  Newport.  On  the  19th  d'Estaing  made  his 
appearance,  in  a  shattered  condition,  the  two  fleets  having  been 
separated  by  a  storm.  He  refused  to  assist  further  in  the  siege,  and 
announced  his  design  of  going  to  Boston  to  re-fit.  In  vain  La  Fay- 
ette  and  Greene  besought  him  to  remain.  He  replied,  that  he  was 
controlled  by  orders  from  home.  He  set  sail  on  the  22nd.  Sullivan 
now  found  himself  forced  to  abandon  the  siege,  which  he  did  in 
mortification,  anger,  and  despair.  He  was  pursued  by  the  British, 
who  met  a  repulse  :  after  which  he  was  suffered  to  retire  unmolested. 
He  still,  however,  kept  possession  of  the  north  end  of  the  island. 
But,  receiving  intelligence  from  Washington  that  Lord  Howe  had 
sailed  from  New  York  with  a  large  body  of  troops,  intended  to  cut 
off  his  retreat,  he  abandoned  his  works  on  the  night  of  the  30th  of 
September,  and  retired  to  the  mainland.  It  was  a  fortunate  move- 
ment, and  not  too  early  effected;  for  on  the  31st,  Clinton  arrived 
with  four  thousand  men. 

During  this  summer,  occurred  those*  devastations  and  massacres  on 
the  western  border  which  will  be  ever  memorable  for  their  horrors. 
The  Indians,  excited  by  the  English,  made  simultaneous  incursions 
on  the  defenceless  settlements,  along  the  whole  line  of  frontier  from 
the  boundery  of  New  York  to  the  confines  of  Georgia.  In  the 
south,  their  successes  were  partial :  but  from  Virginia  they  were 
repelled  by\Colonel  George  Rogers  Clarke.  Their  most  terrible  blow, 
however,  fell  on  the  beautiful  and  peaceful  valley  of  Wyoming, 
situated  on  the  north  branch  of  the  Susquehannah,  in  the  upper  part 

j. 
-    - 


108 


THE   WAR  OF  INDEPENDENCE. 


of  Pennsylvania.  A  body  of  savages  and  tories,  the  latter  said  to 
be  the  most  numerous,  headed  by  Colonel  Butler,  a  Connecticut 
loyalist,  descended  suddenly  on  this  settlement  in  the  beginning  of 
July,  and  laid  waste  the  district  with  fire  and  sword.  Unheard  of 
cruelties  were  perpetrated  on  the  miserable  inhabitants.  The  heart 
sickens  in  reading  the  horrible  details  of  that  massacre.  Harmless 
women  were  scalped  and  left  to  die  in  lingering  agonies :  children 
were  inhumanly  put  to  death  in  sport:  a  fort  was  fired  and  its 


BUIXS   OF   WYOMIN3. 


unhappy  inmates  burnt  alive.  Brothers  refused  brothers  mercy,  but 
murdered  them'while  suppliant.  It  is  computed  that  of  a  population 
of  three  thousand  souls  very  few  escaped.  When  the  relatives  of  the 
hapless  victims  visited  the  valley  with  reinforcements,  they  found 
only  desolate  ruins  where  once  had  been  smiling  houses,  while  for 
miles,  before  reaching  the  fort,  the  road  was  strewn  with  bleached 
and  mouldering  human  bones. 

For  this  horrible  massacre  a  terrible  retribution  was  taken  the 
succeeding  year.  An  expedition,  commanded  by  General  Sullivan, 
proceeded  up  the  Susquehannfth,  in  the  summer  of  1779,  as  far  as 
Wyoming,  where  it  was  joined  by  General  James  Clinton,  from  the 
Mohawk,  with  further  reinforcements.  Th^Avo  Generals  advanced 
up  the  Susquehannah,  penetrating  the  tg^jjory  of  the  Six  Nations,  until 
they  reached  a  village  called  Newtown.  Here  the  Indians  had 
made  a  stand,  assisted  by  some  loyalists.  Their  position  was 
defended  by  palisades  and  a  rude  redoubt,  but  the  Americans 
charged  with  such  fury,  that  the  savages,  after  two  hours  fighting, 
fled  on  all  sides.  No  further  resistance  was  made  by  the  Indians, 


STORMING    OF    STONY    POINT.  109 

who,  abandoning  their  corn-fields  and  villages,  hid  themselves  in 
'  inaccessible  swamps,  or  retreated  to  the  frontiers  of  Canada.  Sulli- 
van's orders  were  to  lay  waste  their  country  with  fire  and  sword, 
which  he  proceeded  to  do.  Forty  villages,  and  one  hundred  and 
sixty  thousand  bushels  of  corn  were  destroyed :  the  whole  of  that 
fertile  district,  with  its  orchards  and  farm-houses,  was  reduced  to  a 
smoking  ruin :  and  the  savages,  late  its  possessors,  and  who  had 
there  gathered  around  themselves  all  the  appliances  of  civilization, 
were  driven  forth  outcasts,  to  herd  again  with  wild  beasts,  and  to 
perish  of  want,  exposure,  and  disease,  during  the  ensuing  winter. 
Thus  do  the  miseries  and  cruelties  of  war  re-produce  themselves. 

During  the  year  1779,  the  same  in  which  this  terrible  retaliation 
occurred,  the  armies  of  Washington  and  Clinton,  though  watching 
each  other  closely,  engaged  in  no  enterprise  of  magnitude.  On 
the  side  of  the  Anferican  General,  this  apparent  indolence  was 
the  result  of  the  comparatively  small  force  under  his  command,  for 
the  terms  of  a  large  portion  of  his  tmops  were  expiring,  and  enlist- 
ments progressed  slowly.  He  was^specially  unwilling  to  hazard 
the  loss  of  a  battle  with  his  insufficient  forces,  because  he  considered 
the  cause  gained  already,  unless,  by  his  receiving  some  severe  check, 
the  drooping  spirits  of  the  enemy  should  be  raised.  On  the  side  of 
Sir  Henry  Clinton,  this  inactivity  was  in  part  the  result  of  a  want  of 
reinforcements,  in  part  the  remembrance  of  Monmouth,  and  in  part 
a  consequence  of  a  design  then  forming  to  operate  in  the  southern 
colonies. 

Meantime,  however,  the  British  General  set  on  foot  several  pre- 
datory excursions,  the  principal  of  which  was  directed  against  the 
exposed  coast  of  Connecticut.  The  command  of  this  enterprise  was 
bestowed  on  the  notorious  Governor  Tryon.  He  took  with  him 
twenty-six  hundred  troops,  and  was  absent  about  ten  days,  during 
which  period  he  plundered  and  burnt  East  Haven,  Fairfield,  and 
Norwalk  :  and  New  Haven,  which  he  pillaged,  would  also  have 
been  given  to  the  flames,  but  for  the  gallantry  of  a  party  of  students, 
headed  by  Captain  James  Fairfield.  Another  expedition  was 
despatched  agains^taratmouth,  in  Virginia.  That  town  was  plun- 
dered, and  partially  tl  od,  as  well  as  Suffolk,  Kemp's  Landing, 
Gosport,  and  other  places  »  $he  vicinity.  About  one  hundred  and 
fifty  American  vessels  fell  info  the  hands  of  the  British,  during  the 
fortnight's  stay  made  by  their  fleet  on  the  coast.  After  being  absent 
less  than  a  month,  this  Vandal  expedition  returned  to  New  York. 

Early  in  the  spring  the  Americans  had  busied  themselves  with 
fortifying  Stony  Point  and  Verplank's  Hill,  commanding  King's 


110  THE  WAR  OF  INDEPENDENCE. 

Ferry,  on  the  Hudson.  The  English  resolved  to  attempt  the  seizure 
of  these  two  posts,  as  in  that  case  the  Americans  would  have  no 
way  of  communication  between  the  middle  and  eastern  colonies, 
unless  by  making  a  circuit  of  ninety  miles  up  the  Hudson.  The 
enterprise  was  successful.  Clinton  now  hastened  to  complete  the 
works  at  both  these  places ;  and  had,  before  the  end  of  June,  ren- 
dered them,  as.  he  hoped,  impregnable.  Washington,  however, 
resolved  to  attempt  their  surprize.  The  delicate  and  perilous 
undertaking  of  storming  Stony  Point,  the  most  difficult  of  the  two, 
was  entrusted  to  General  Wayne.  On  the  15th  of  July,  1779,  that 
officer,  at  the  head  of  a  detachment  of  picked  veterans,  cautiously 
approached  the  place,  and,  unperceived  by  the  enemy,  advanced  to 
the  assault  about  half-past  eleven  o'clock  at  night.  The  Americans 
marched  in  two  columns,  with  fixed  bayonets.  The  enemy  soon 
discovered  them  through  the  gloom,  and  immediately  opened  a  tre- 
mendous fire  of  musketry  andgrape  ;  yet  nothing  could  daunt  the 
impetuosity  of  the  assailants :  opening  their  way  with  the  bayonet, 
they  scaled  the  works,  and  tr^^wo  columns  met  in  the  centre  of 
the  fort.  The  fury  of  the  defence  is  shewn  by  the  fact,  that  out  of 
the  forlorn  hope  of  twenty,  seventeen  fell.  General  Wayne  him- 
self was  slightly  wounded  in  the  head  at  the  beginning  of  the  assault, 
but  bravely  continued  to  advance  with  his  men.  The  English  lost 
six  hundred  in  killed  and  prisoners.  The  American  loss  was  sixty- 
three  killed,  and  forty  wounded.  The  fortifications  were  now 
demolished,  and  the  place  abandoned.  The  attack  meditated  against 
Fort  Verplanks,  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  river,  had  not  the  same 
success,  insurmountable  obstacles  having  been  encountered. 

This  campaign  was  also  distinguished  by  the  surprise  of  Pawles 
Hook.  With  less  than  five  hundred  men,  Major  Lee,  on  the  18th 
of  July,  took  this  post  with  the  loss  of  but  half  a  dozen  men,  killed 
and  wounded.  About  thirty  of  the  enemy  were  killed,  besides  one 
hundred  and  sixty-one  taken  prisoners.  The  post  being  near  the 
main  body  of  the  enemy, was  immediately  abandoned :  but  the  brilliant 
success  of  the  enterprise  exhilarated  the  spirit  of  the  whole  American 
army.  About  the  same  time,  General  Putnam,  at  the  Horse  Neck, 
in  Connecticut,  came  near  falling  into  the  enemy's  hands,  and  only 
succeeded  in  escaping  by  gallopping  his  horse  headlong  down  an 
almost  precipitous  descent  of  one  hundred  steps.  In  August  of  this 
year,  an  expedition,  fitted  out  at  Boston,  to  reduce  the  British  post 
at  Penobscot,  failed  in  consequence  of  unnecessary  delays,  which 
afforded  time  for  an  English  squadron  to  sail  to  the  relief  of  the 


THE    WAR    IN    THE    SOUTH. 


Ill 


post.      Thus  the   year  passed.      No   important  enterprises   were 
undertaken :  no  permanent  advantages  gained  on  either  side. 

We  must  now  turn  from  the  north,  where  comparative  inactivity 
marked  both  armies,  and  devote  ourselves  for  a  while  to  the  south, 
where  war,  revisiting  that  section  of  the  country,  in  the  summer  of 
1779,  continued  to  rage  there  until  the  declaration  of  peace,  with  a 
violence  and  horror  to  which  the  north  had  been  a  stranger,  and  which 
gave  to  it,  in  the  language  of  General  Greene,  the  character  of  a 
strife  between  fiends  rather  than  men. 


GENERAL   GREEXE. 


BOOK  IV. 


THE     WAR    IN    THE     SOUTH. 

HE  commissioners  sent  out  with  Lord 
Howe,  in  the  spring  of  1778,  had  con- 
tinued in  the  country  after  Congress  re- 
jected their  proposals,  one  of  their  number 
occupying  himself  in  endeavors  to  seduce 
various  prominent  members  of  the  patriot 
party.  Governor  Johnstone  was  the  per- 
sonage who  made  himself  active  in  these 
overtures.  He  addressed  letters  to  Robert 
Morris,  to  Joseph  Reed,  and  to  Francis 
Dana:  and  secretly  offered,  through  a 
lady,  a  bribe  of  ten  thousand  pounds  to  General  Reed.  These  in- 
trigues coming  to  light,  induced  Congress  to  declare  that  it  could 


15 


113 


114  THE   WAR  OF   INDEPENDENCE. 

hold  no  correspondence  with  Johnstone,  who  made  a  sharp  rejoinder, 
while  his  colleagues  disclaimed  all  knowledge  of  any  bribery  and 
corruption,  and  bore  testimony  to  his  honesty  and  high  mindedness. 
The  conduct  of  Reed  was  one  of  the  noblest  instances  of  patriotism 
in  our  revolutionary  history. 

The  winter  spent  at  Valley  Forge  had  not  been  without  one  good 
effect:  it  had  tended  materially  to  increase  the  discipline  of  the  army. 
In  May,  1778,  the  Baron  Steuben,  who  had  served  with  distinction 
under  the  great  Frederick,  was  appointed  Inspector  General  of  the 
army,  into  which  he  speedily  introduced  the  exact  and  perfect  prac- 
tice of  the  then  celebrated  Prussian  discipline.  The  benefit  of  his 
instructions  was  perceptible  even  at  so  early  a  period  as  the  battle 
of  Monmouth,  as  may  be  seen  by  comparing  the  conduct  of  the 
soldiers  there  and  at  Long  Island ;  but  was  more  especially  remark- 
able in  the  storming  of  Stony  Point,  where  not  a  musket  was 
discharged,  but  the  bayonet  did  every  thing,  a  feat  worthy  of  the 
Prussian  veterans  themselves. 

The  British,  afler  three  active  campaigns,  now  found  themselves 
no  further  advanced  than  in  the  first.  It  had  been  remarked  in 
Europe,  on  hearing  of  the  battle  of  Bunker  Hill,  that  the  royal 
troops  had  conquered,  on  that  day,  only  so  much  of  America  as  was 
covered  by  the  dead  and  dying.  After  the  lapse  of  four  years,  they 
had  done  no  more.  .At  no  period,  not  even  in  the  disastrous  autumn 
of  1776,  had  they  reduced  to  submission  more  of  the  country  than 
they  occupied.  As  long  as  their  armies  were  present  in  overwhelm- 
ing force,  the  inhabitants  were  quiet  through  terror ;  but  the  instant 
the  royal  troops  departed,  the  country  rose  in  their  rear.  The  tem- 
porary ascendancy  of  the  loyalists,  always  in  a  minority,  was  cast 
down  :  the  patriots  once  more  assumed  the  reins  of  government ;  the 
disaffected  were  banished,  imprisoned,  or  silenced  by  fines  :  and  a 
traveller,  ignorant  of  this  sudden  change,  would  have  supposed  that 
the  colonists  had  never  succumbed  to  the  British,  since  the  war 
first  broke  out. 

From  the  conquest  of  such  a  people,  the  royal  generals  began  to 
turn  in  despair.  At  first,  they  had  attempted  the  reduction  of  New 
England.  A  year's  experience  had  convinced  them  that  this  was 
impossible.  Then  they  had  essayed  the  middle  states  ;  this  endea- 
vor, also,  after  a  more  stubborn  trial,  they  had  virtually  abandoned. 
The  south,  however,  remained  to  them :  and  they  resolved  to  make 
there  a  last  effort.  They  were  stimulated  to  this  final  enterprise  by 
the  servile  character  of  a  portion  of  her  population,  opening  a  door 
for  domestic  treason  and  warfare ;  by  the  fact  that  a  larger  coiu- 


GENERAL    PREVOST    AT    SAVANNAH.  115 

parative  number  of  the  free  population  were  loyalists,  than  at  the 
north ;  and  by  the  richness  of  portions  of  the  soil,  which  furnished 
large  supplies  to  Washington,  as  well  as  to  the  French  fleet  in  the  West 
Indies.  It  was  hoped  that  if  the  south  was  overrun  and  conquered, 
it  could  be  retained  for  the  King,  even  if  it  became  necessary  to 
acknowledge  the  independence  of  the  middle  and  eastern  provinces. 
The  Carolinas  and  Georgia  were  too  rich  a  prize  to  be  lightly 
abandoned  :  the  stake  was  worth  playing  for,  at  least.  Moved  by 
these  considerations,  the  English  Generals  resolved  to  transfer  the 
war  to  those  provinces.  A  sufficient  force  was  to  be  reserved  at  the 
north  to  keep  Washington  in  check :  the  remainder  was  to  be 
embarked  for  a  new  and  more  dazzling  field  of  enterprise.  Was  it 
blind  destiny,  or  an  overruling  Providence  that  lured  them  on  ? 

As  an  experiment,  Lieutenant  Colonel  Campbell  had  been 
despatched  from  New  York,  towards  the  close  of  the  year  1778,  with 
twenty-five  hundred  men,  to  invest  Savannah ;  while  at  the  same 
time,  General  Prevost,  who  commanded  the  British  troops  in  the 
Floridas,  was  ordered  to  march  with  all  his  force,  and  invade  Geor- 
gia from  the  south.  Colonel  Campbell  appeared  in  the  Savannah 
river  on  the  23rd  of  December,  1778  ;  and  six  days  after  effected  a 
landing,  under  cover  of  the  fleet.  General  Robert  Howe,  of  the 
American  Army,  had  hastily  collected  a  force  of  about  nine  hundred 
regulars  and  militia,  and  with  these  he  took  a  strong  position,  sur- 
rounded, except  in  front,  by  the  river,  and  by  morasses,  A  negro, 
however,  betrayed  a  secret  pass  in  his  rear  to  the  enemy,  and  being 
attacked  on  both  sides  at  once,  Howe  was  defeated,  though  not  until 
after  a  desperate  resistance.  Nearly  two-thirds  of  his  little  force 
were  either  killed  or  made  prisoners.  The  town,  the  fort,  the  ship- 
ping in  the  river,  and  all  the  provisions,  fell  into  the  hands  of  the 
British.  With  what  remained  of  his  little  army,  Howe  retreated 
into  South  Carolina. 

In  the  meantime,  General  Prevost  had  begun  his  march  from 
East  Florida,  pursuant  to  the  orders  of  General  Clinton.  After 
having  conquered  innumerable  obstacles,  he  arrived  at  Fort  Sunbury, 
which  he  proceeded  to  invest.  The  fort  soon  surrendered.  About 
this  time,  Colonel  Campbell,  who  had  set  out  also  to  reduce  the  fort, 
came  up,  and  the  two  English  corps  effected  a  junction  with 
mutual  felicitations.  General  Prevost  now  proceeded  to  Savannah, 
where  he  assumed  the  chief  command.  Shortly  after,  he  sent  a 
detachment  to  occupy  Augusta.  The  loyalists  in  the  upper  part  oi 
South  Carolina,  animated  by  the  appearance  of  the  British  at 
Augusta,  collected,  and  began  to  march  to  join  the  royal  standard, 


116  THE  WAR  OF  INDEPENDENCE. 

having  first  chosen  for  their  leader  Colonel  Boyd.  Their  route  was 
everywhere  marked  by  pillage  and  flame.  They  had  already 
crossed  the  Savannah,  and  were  near  the  British  posts,  when  Colonel 
Pickens,  with  a  party  of  Carolinians,  in  pursuit,  came  up  with  them. 
The  tories  were  routed  with  great  slaughter.  In  consequence,  the 
English  abandoned  Augusta,  and  fell  back  to  Savannah. 

This  retreat  was  the  more  advisable,  because  General  Lincoln, 
whom  congress  had  just  appointed  to  the  command  of  the  southern 
army,  had  arrived  in  the  vicinity  of  Augusta,  and  encamped  at 
Black  Swamp.  He  had  been  selected  at  the  recommendation  of  the 
Carolinians,  on  the  first  intimation  of  Clinton's  designs  against  the 
south.  The  people  now  rose  and  took  arms  with  alacrity  to  second 
him.  He  soon  found  himself  at  the  head  of  about  twenty-five  hun- 
dred men.  Sixteen  hundred  of  these  he  despatched  to  the  upper 
country,  under  the  command  of  General  Ashe.  Prevost,  gaining 
intelligence  of  this  separation,  resolved  to  attempt  the  destruction 
of  the  weaker  corps,  and  accordingly,  by  a  forced  march,  he  came 
up  with  General  Ashe,  at  the.  head  of  nine  hundred  regulars,  and 
speedily  defeated  that  officer.  Most  of  those  who  escaped,  dis- 
banded, so  that  but  four  hundred,  out  of  the  whole  detachment, 
returned  to  Lincoln.  This  affair,  in  which  the  militia  behaved 
shamefully,  has  been  called  the  rout  of  Briar  Creek.  It  occurred  on 
the^  3rd  of  March,  1779. 

Lincoln  and  Prevost,  after  this,  remained  watching  each  other 
until  the  beginning  of  May,  when  Lincoln,  in  order  to  overawe  the 
loyalists  in  the  upper  country,  advanced  towards  Augusta.  Instantly 
Prevost  formed  the  design  of  carrying  the  war  into  the  heart  of 
Carolina.  He  accordingly  crossed  the  Savannah,  and  began  to 
forage  extensively,  General  Moultrie,  whom  Lincoln  had  left  to 
watch  the  British,  retiring  before  him.  Astonished  at  his  own  suc- 
cess, bolder  views  now  broke  upon  him,  and  he  conceived  the  daring 
project  of  capturing  Charleston  itself.  In  a  few  days,  accordingly, 
after  a  forced  march,  he  arrived  within  cannon-shot  of  that  rich 
capital,  which  he  instantly  summoned  to  surrender.  On  this,  all  was 
consternation  among  the  citizens  :  some  were  for  an  instant  compli- 
ance, others  wished  to  hold  out  against  a  storm.  At  last,  amid  these 
conflicting  counsels,  it  was  resolved  to  temporise  for  the  present, 
trusting  to  the  speedy  arrival  of  Lincoln  to  raise  the  seige.  This 
scheme  succeeded.  Prevost  was  still  listening  to  discussions  of 
the  terms  of  the  capitulation,  when  he  received  intelligence  that 
Lincoln  was  approaching.  It  was  now  his  own  turn  to  be  alarmed. 
He  determined  to  retreat.  This  he  effected  by  crossing  to  the 


SIEGE    OP    SAVANNAH.  117 

neighboring  islands  of  St.  John  and  St.  James.  A  succession  of 
like  fertile  islands,  contiguous  to  each  other,  but  separated  from  the 
main,  stretch  along  the  sea-coast  from  Charleston  to  Savannah,  and 
by  availing  himself  of  these,  Prevost  extricated  himself  from  a 
dilemma,  into  which  it  is  almost  impossible  to  tell  whether  he  was 
led  more  by  boldness,  than  by  rashness.  Lincoln  made  no  attempt 
to  assail  the  retiring  British,  except  by  attacking  the  pass  at  Stono 
Ferry ;  where,  however,  he  met  with  a  repulse.  The  royal  army 
now  retired  to  Savannah. 

Thus,  in  a  single  campaign,  had  the  British  conquered  the  whole 
province  of  Georgia,  besides  devastating  some  of  the  richest  parts 
of  South  Carolina  and  almost  possessing  themselves  of  its  capital. 
It  is  true  that  the  excesses  committed  by  the  royal  troops,  in  the  end 
inflamed  the  inhabitants  against  them ;  but,  at  present,  nothing  was 
seen,  nothing  was  talked  of,  but  the  supremacy  of  the  English.  The 
British  officers  continually  remarked  on  the  ease  of  conquering  the 
south,  compared  with  the  more  stubborn  north.  Miserable  delusion  ! 
But  when  Prevost  wrote  to  Sir  Henry  Clinton  that  he  had  reduced 
the  whole  province  of  Georgia  to  abject  submission,  and  that  in 
Carolina  he  had  destroyed  innumerable  splendid  dwellings  and  freed 
four  thousand  negroes,  the  British  General,  inflamed  by  the  magni- 
tude of  the  prize  and  the  comparative  ease  with  which  it  might  be 
appropriated,  determined  to  follow  up  in  earnest  the  conquest  of  that 
splendid  section  of  the  country.  In  the  meanwhile,  in  order  to  divert 
the  public  rnind,  he  despatched  that  ruthless  expedition  against 
Portsmouth,  in  Virginia,  of  which  we  have  already  given  an  account. 

Before,  however,  Sir  Henry  Clinton  could  prepare  to  enter  in 
person  on  a  southern  campaign,  the  Count  d'Estaing  arrived  off 
Savannah,  anxious  to  perform  something  showy  and  brilliant  before 
he  returned  to  Europe.  We  left  him  re-fitting  at  Boston  in 
1778.  After  he  had  laid  in  his  stores  there,  he  sailed  for  the 
West  Indies,  where  he  was  occupied,  with  various  success,  for  nearly 
a  year.  About  the  first  of  September,  1779,  he  made  his  appearance 
on  the  coast  of  Georgia.  The  news  of  his  arrival  caused  a  delirium 
of  exultation  at  Charleston.  Lincoln  immediately  marched  for 
Savannah.  D'Estaing  now  landed  his  troops,  and  on  the  15th  of 
September  the  allies  appeared  under  the  walls  of  the  town.  Prevost 
was  summoned  to  surrender.  He  asked  twenty-four  hours  delay, 
during  which  time  he  was  joined  by  a  reinforcement  of  eight  hun- 
dred men.  He  now  expressed  his  determination  to  defend  himself 
to  the  last  extremity.  On  this  d'Estaing  began  the  siege  in  form. 
The  allies  numbered  nearly  eight  thousand ;  the  British  three  thou- 


118 


THE    WAR    OP    INDEPENDENCE. 


SAVAJOCAH  in  Tax  YEAR  OJCK  THOUSAND,  SEVEN  HUNDRED  AND  SEVENTY-EIGHT. 


sand.  But  the  latter  were  defended  by  fortifications,  which  daily 
strengthened  beneath  their  assiduous  labors.  At  length,  on  the  3rd 
of  October,  the  besiegers  mounted  their  first  battery,  and  for  the  five 
succeeding  days  the  bombardment  was  maintained  with  extraordi- 
nary vigor :  fifty-three  heavy  cannon  and  nine  mortars  shook  the 
earth  with  constant  explosions ;  carcasses  were  launched  into  the 
town,  imparting  flames  wherever  they  struck ;  women  and  children 
were  killed  by  the  falling  roofs,  or  what  is  worse,  were  miserably 
crippled.  Yet  still  the  garrison  betrayed  no  signs  of  surrender.  The 
few  breaches  in  their  works  they  repaired,  defying  their  enemy  gal- 
lantly to  the  last. 

The  season  was  now*  approaching  when  storms,  so  frequent  and 
terrible  in  the  autumn  on  that  coast,  rendered  the  situation  of  the 
French  fleet  extremely  precarious.  D'Estaing  had  been  pursuaded, 
day  after  day,  by  the  growing  excitement  of  the  siege,  to  postpone  his 
departure  ;  but  now  he  declared  that  the  safety  of  the  fleet  precluded 
a  longer  delay.  Before  abandoning  the  expedition,  however,  it  was 
resolved  to  attempt  the  British  works  by  assault :  an  enterprise  in 


SIEGE   OF  CHARLESTON.  119 

which  d'Estaing  was  sanguine  of  success,  although  no  considerable 
breach  had  been  yet  opened.  Accordingly,  on  the  9th,  before  day, 
the  allies  advanced  to  the  storm  in  two  columns,  d'Estaing  leading 
one,  and  Lincoln  the  other.  It  is  said  the  English  had  received 
notice  of  the  impending  attack  ;  and  the  assertion  is  rendered  proba- 
ble by  the  state  of  preparation  in  which  they  were  found.  For  an 
hour  the  strife  raged  with  terrific  fury.  A  redoubt  on  the  Ebenezer 
Road  became  the  principal  scene  of  the  conflict.  A  French  and  an 
American  standard  were  at  last  planted  on  the  ramparts,  but  soon 
hurled  down,  with  their  brave  defenders,  by  the  soldiers  in  the  place. 
In  the  end,  the  allies  were  forced  to  retreat,  leaving,  of  the  French, 
six  hundred  and  thirty-seven,  of  the  Americans,  two  hundred  and 
forty-one,  killed  and  wounded.  In  the  height  of  the  assault,  Count 
Pulaski,  charging  at  the  head  of  his  men,  received  a  mortal  wound, 
of  which  he  died  a  few  days  after.  The  loss  of  the  British,  as  they 
fought  behind  ramparts,  was  inconsiderable.  On  the  18th  the  siege 
was  raised.  Lincoln  passed  to  the  left  bank  of  the  Savannah,  into 
South  Carolina :  d'Estaing  embarked,  and  immediately  left  the 
coasts  of  America.  Of  this  fatal  affair,  impartial  history  is  forced  to 
record  that  the  assault  either  took  place  too  soon,  or  was  put  off 
too  long.  Had  it  occurred  before  Prevost  was  reinforced  it  would 
probably  have  been  successful :  had  it  been  delayed  until  the  trenches 
were  further  advanced,  and  practicable  breaches  made,  the  fortress 
must  have  fallen.  Thus  ended  d'Estaing's  career  in  America.  In 
all  his  enterprises  undertaken  in  conjunction  with  his  allies  he  was 
unfortunate,  partly  from  his  own  rashness,  partly  because  restricted 
by  instructions  from  home :  in  consequence  his  name  has  been 
regarded  here  with  peculiar  unpopularity  and  disfavor.  He  effected 
little,  yet  was  not  wholly  useless.  His  presence  restrained  the  Bri- 
tish and  made  them  avoid  hazardous  enterprises.  Owing  to  his 
expected  return  from  the  West  Indies  the  royal  troops  were  with- 
drawn from  Rhode  Island  and  concentrated  at  New  York ;  while 
Clinton,  from  the  same  cause,  postponed  his  long  contemplated 
southern  expedition,  until  d'Estaing  had  left  America. 

No  sooner,  however,  did  the  British  General  receive  certain  intel- 
ligence of  d'Estaing's  departure,  than  he  set  sail  from  New  York, 
with  between  seven  and  eight  thousand  men,  under  convoy  of  Ad- 
miral Arbuthnot,  who  had  arrived  some  weeks  before  with  reinforce- 
ments. The  fleet  was  at  first  separated  by  a  tempest,  but  the  ships 
finally  arrived  in  Georgia  about  the  end  of  January,  1 780.  Thence 
th<>  re-united  forces  proceeded  towards  Charleston,  and  on  the  llth 
of  February  landed  on  St.  John's  Island,  about  thirty  miles  south  of 


120  THE  WAR  OF  INDEPENDENCE. 

that  town.  Proceeding  with  celerity,  Clinton,  by  the  end  of  March, 
was  fully  prepared  for  the  siege.  On  the  21st,  Admiral  Arbuthnot, 
with  the  fleet,  forced  the  passage  defended  by  Fort  Moultrie.  On 
the  29th,  Clinton  crossed  the  Ashley,  twelve  miles  above  the  town, 
and  marching  down,  took  post  across  the  isthmus,  a  mile  and  a  half 
distant  behind  the  city.  On  the  1st  of  April  ground  was  broken, 
and  in  a  week  afterwards  batteries  raised.  On  the  9th,  Admiral 
Arbuthnot,  taking  advantage  of  a  favorable  wind,  sailed  up  the 
harbor,  and  took  a  position  within  cannon  shot  of  the  town.  Every- 
thing being  now  ready  on  the  part  of  the  British,  and  the  city  being 
hemmed  effectually  in,  a  summons  was  sent  to  Lincoln  to  surrender. 
That  General  answered  with  spirit  that  he  was  determined  to  de- 
fend himself  to  the  last.  On  this  the  English  opened  their  fire. 

From  the  hour  in  which  he  had  received  the  intimation  of  Clin- 
ton's approach,  Lincoln  had  been  busily  engaged  in  putting  Charles- 
ton in  a  state  of  defence.  The  old  works  were  repaired :  new 
fortifications  erected.  A  chain  of  redoubts,  lines  and  batteries  was 
constructed,  extending  from  the  Ashley  to  the  Cooper  river,  thus 
completely  defending  the  peninsula  on  which  Charleston  stood. 
Eighty  pieces  of  artillery  guarded  this  line.  On  either  side  of  the 
town,  wherever  a  landing  could  be  effected,  batteries  were  erected, 
which  bristled  with  cannon.  On  these  various  works  six  thousand 
slaves  had  been  actively  employed.  Meantime,  the  Governor,  Mr. 
Rutledge,  seconded  Lincoln  with  all  the  powers  of  civil  government, 
increased  in  this  emergency,  by  a  vote  of  the  Assembly,  to  those  of 
a  dictatorship.  The  inhabitants  were  called  out  en  masse,  and  con- 
fiscation threatened  to  those  who  refused.  Nevertheless,  there  was 
among  many  a  disposition  to  hold  back :  already  they  feared  that 
the  colonists  would  prove  the  weaker ;  and,  in  consequence,  the 
utmost  exertions  of  the  Governor  and  General  could  not  raise  the 
effective  force  of  the  garrison  above  six  thousand.  Of  these,  but  two 
thousand,  who  were  regulars,  could  be  depended  on.  But  there 
were  strong  hopes  that  reinforcements,  which  had  been  promised 
from  North  Carolina,  would  speedily  arrive  :  indulging  this  expecta- 
tion, Lincoln  returned  a  defiance  to  the  summons  of  Clinton.  Had 
it  been  certain  that  no  succor  would  reach  him,  the  American  Gene- 
ral might  have  acted  differently,  and  either  made  an  honorable 
capitulation,  or  effected  a  retreat  over  the  Cooper  River,  which  as 
yet  remained  open  to  him. 

In  a  few  days,  however,  this  outlet  was  also  closed.  A 
party  of  cavalry  and  militia,  who  virtually  guarded  it,  were  attacked 
and  uttterly  routed,  at  Monk's  Corner.  The  English  now  swarmed 


SIEGE  OP  CHARLESTON.  121 

over  the  whole  country  on  the  side  of  Cooper  River  opposite 
Charleston ;  and  thus  were  the  Americans  finally  enclosed.  By  this 
time  the  second  parallel  had  been  opened,  and  the  town  began  to 
crumble  under  the  fire  of  the  British  batteries.  Receiving  an 
accession  of  reinforcements  amounting  to  three  thousand  men,  Clin- 
ton resolved  to  attack  Fort  Moultrie,  which  place,  despairing  of 
relief,  and  being  too  weak  to  resist  an  assault,  surrendered  on  the 
7th  of  May.  The  third  parallel  had  now  been  reached.  Clinton 
seized  this  occasion  to  summon  Lincoln  anew.  But  the  Americans 
would  not  consent  to  the  terms  of  capitulation  offered,  and  accord- 
ingly the  conflict  began  again.  The  English  batteries  thundered 
incessantly :  the  fortifications  sunk  under  repeated  blows ;  many  of 
the  guns  were  dismounted,  and  officers  and  soldiers  were  picked  oft' 
if  they  showed  themselves  above  the  works.  The  town,  all  this 
while,  suffered  terribly.  Bombs  fell  continually  among  the  houses, 
whence  flames  almost  hourly  broke  forth,  and  were  with  difficulty 
extinguished :  no  roof  was  safe,  no  place  of  refuge  remained.  The 
citizens  began  to  clamor.  The  garrison  lost  heart.  At  last  the 
inflexibility  of  Lincoln  gave  way,  and  on  the  12th  of  May,  articles 
of  capitulation  were  signed.  By  these  the  garrison  was  allowed 
some  of  the  honors  of  war :  it  was  to  march  out  of  the  town  and 
deposit  its  arms  in  front  of  the  works,  but  the  drums  were  not  to 
beat  a  British  march,  nor  the  colors  to  be  uncased.  The  seamen 
and  continentals  were  to  be  prisoners  of  war  until  exchanged :  the 
militia  were  allowed  to  return  to  their  homes  as  prisoners  on  parole : 
the  citizens  were  also  to  be  prisoners  on  parole,  and,  as  well  as  the 
militia,  were  not  to  be  molested  in  person  or  property.  The  officers 
were  to  retain  their  arms,  baggage  and  servants.  By  this  capitula- 
tion seven  general  officers  ;  ten  continental  regiments,  much  reduced ; 
three  battalions  of  artillery ;  four  frigates ;  and  an  immense  quan- 
tity of  bombs,  balls  and  powder  came  into  the  hands  of  the  English. 
It  is  computed  that  four  hundred  cannon,  and  six  thousand  troops, 
in  all,  were  captured  at  the  fall  of  Charleston.  The  blow  was  the 
severest  one  the  cause  of  independence  had  yet  received. 

Lincoln  was  almost  universally  blamed.  One  half  the  nation 
censured  him  for  attempting  to  defend  the  town  at  all,  and  the  other 
half  found  fault  with  him  for  not  abandoning  it  before  the  rout  at 
Monk's  Corner.  His  best  defence,  perhaps,  is  in  this  very  difference 
of  opinion ;  for  if  it  was  difficult,  after  the  affair,  to  tell  what  he 
should  have  done:  how  much  more  difficult  must  it  have  been 
during  the  progress  of  events.  Besides,  he  had  been  promised 
reinforcements,  which  he  depended  on,  but  which  never  arrived. 
16  L 


122 


THE  WAR  OP  INDEPENDENCE. 


In  popular  communities  an  unfortunate  General  is  too  frequently 
punished  as  an  incompetent  one,  at  least,  by  public  opinion ;  and 
such  was  the  fate  of  Lincoln :  but  it  is  the  province  of  history  to 
correct  these  erroneous  judgments,  and  declare  the  truth,  however 
counter  it  may  run  to  preconceived  opinions. 

Clinton  had  no  sooner  taken  possession  of  Charleston  than  he 
proceeded  to  follow  up  his  success  by  the  conquest  of  the  state.  He 
sent  out  expeditions  to  various  quarters,  all  of  which  were  success- 
ful. One,  composed  of  about  seven  hundred  horse  and  foot,  com- 
manded by  Colonel  Tarleton,  overtook  arid  defeated,  after  a  forced 
march,  a  body  of  continental  infantry  and  a  few  horsemen,  led  by 
Colonel  Benford,  at  the  Waxhaws.  A  horrible  scene  of  butchery 
ensued.  The  Americans,  imploring  quarter,  were  ruthlessly  cut 


TABLEIOX'S  QUARTEBS. 


down,  until  nearly  every  man  was  killed,  or  so  severely  wounded 
as  to  be  unable  to  move.  This  massacre  gave  a  tone  of  savageness 
to  the  future  warfare  in  the  south  on  both  sides ;  and,  long  after, 
when  the  colonists  would  express  the  cruelties  of  a  barbarous  foe, 
they  called  them  Tarleton's  quarters. 

These  reverses  struck  terror  far  and  wide  through  Carolina.  The 
fall  of  Charleston,  and  the  successive  blows  dealt  throughout  the 
state,  paralyzed  all  resistance :  even  the  patriots  began  to  regard  the 


AMERICAN    VICTORY    AT    HANGING    ROCK.  123 

south  as  irretrievably  conquered.  Clinton  resolved  to  seize  this  favor- 
able crisis  in  the  public  sentiment,  by  the  proclamation  of  a  general 
amnesty  and  pardon,  ending  with  an  invitation  to  all  citizens  to 
renew  their  allegiance.  By  a  sort  of  trick  he  strove  to  enroll  the 
inhabitants  in  the  army  of  the  King.  He  freed  all  persons  taken  at 
Charleston,  except  the  regulars,  from  their  parole ;  but  immediately 
enjoined  on  them,  as  being  now  royal  citizens,  to  take  up  arms  for 
his  Majesty.  All  persons  who  would  not  do  this  were  to  be  treated 
as  rebels.  Regarding  the  colony  as  completely  conquered,  he  soon 
after  sailed  for  New  York,  leaving  Cornwallis  in  command  at  the 
south. 

But  the  clause,  in  which  it  was  sought  to  force  every  citizen  to 
fight  for  the  King,  soon  began  to  re-act  with  terrible  force  against 
the  British.  Men,  who  had  but  lately  borne  arms  for  the  Congress, 
were  not  prepared  to  take  the  field  against  it :  they  would  have 
been  willing  to  remain  neutral;  but  they  were  not  to  be  drilled 
into  instruments  of  oppression.  A  change  in  the  public  sentiment 
immediately  began.  Despair  gave  courage  :  a  deadly  animosity  was 
nursed  in  secret.  Many  openly  avowed  their  sentiments  and  fled : 
others  dissembled  for  a  time.  But  the  great  majority,  so  frail  is 
human  nature,  were  driven  by  their  fears  to  swear  allegiance 
to  the  royal  government ;  only  the  women  were  frank  and  heroic, 
for  these,  with  a  courage  above  that  of  the  other  sex,  openly 
expressed  their  sentiments,  and  loaded  with  smiles  of  approval  the 
few  of  their  countrymen  who  dared  to  be  sincere. 

A  portion  of  those  who  preferred  abandoning  their  homes  to 
acknowledging  the  royal  authority,  met  in  North  Carolina,  and 
chose  for  their  leader,  General  Sumpter,  a  man  of  enterprise,  skill 
and  chivalrous  courage.  He  immediately  began,  on  the  state  authori- 
ty, a  partizan  warfare.  On  the  10th  of  July,  at  the  head  of  but  one 
hundred  and  thirty-three  men,  he  routed  a  detachment  of  royal 
forces  and  militia  at  Williamson's  plantation.  His  force  gradually 
swelled  to  six  hundred  men.  He  now  made  an  unsuccessful  attack 
on  Rocky  Mount,  where  a  strong  party  of  the  enemy  was  posted ; 
but  immediately  afterwards  met  and  almost  utterly  annihilated,  at 
Hanging  Rock,  the  Prince  of  Wales'  regiment  and  large  body  of 
tories.  These  slight  checks,  however,  did  not  intimidate  Cornwallis, 
who  was  actively  engaged  in  preparations  to  invade  North  Caro- 
lina. But  meantime  Congress  and  Washington  had  not  been  idle, 
and  at  that  very  moment  an  army  was  advancing  from  the  north  to 
oppose  him,  headed  by  the  man  who  had  subdued  Burgoyne,  the  con- 
quering Gates. 


124  THE  WAR  OF  INDEPENDENCE. 

As  soon  as  Washington  had  been  apprised  of  the  siege  of  Charles- 
ton, he  had  despatched  the  Baron  de  Kalb  to  the  succor  of  that 
place,  with  fourteen  hundred  regulars.  That  officer  made  every  effort, 
but  in  vain,  to  reach  his  destination  in  time.  In  passing  through 
Virginia  and  North  Carolina  he  was  joined  by  the  militia  of  those 
provinces,  by  which  reinforcements  his  army  was  raised  very  conside- 
rably. So  large  a  force,  in  the  eyes  of  Congress,  favored  the  hope 
of  a  successful  struggle  for  the  recovery  of  the  south :  and  to  give  as 
much  confidence  as  possible  to  the  army,  Gates  was  appointed  to  the 
chief  command,  the  prestige  of  whose  name,  it  was  thought,  would 
ensure  victory.  Accordingly,  on  the  25th  of  July,  that  officer  joined 
the  camp  at  Deep  River.  He  immediately  reviewed  the  troops,  and 
without  loss  of  time  advanced  to  the  Pedee.  On  entering  South 
Carolina,  he  issued  a  proclamation,  calling  on  all  patriotic  citizens 
to  resort  to  his  standard.  So  great  was  the  confidence  in  his  name, 
that  numbers  flocked  to  him,  and  on  every  side,  the  most  unequivo- 
cal signs  of  a  rising  alarmed  Cornwallis.  That  officer  was  at  Cam- 
den,  where  he  found  that  he  must  either  retreat  to  Charleston,  or 
give  battle  to  his  foe.  His  forces  were  but  two  thousand,  of  whom 
only  fifteen  hundred  were  regulars:  while  the  army  of  Gates 
amounted  to  three  thousand,  six  hundred  and  sixty-three,  of  whom 
about  a  thousand  were  regulars.  Nevertheless,  he  chose  the  bolder 
resolution,  and  determined  to  give  battle.  On  the  night  of  the  15th 
of  August,  accordingly,  he  moved  from  his  position,  intending  to 
assault  the  Americans  in  their  camp  ;  but,  by  a  singular  coincidence, 
he  met  Gates  half-way,  coming,  in  like  manner,  to  surprise  him.  A 
smart  skirmish  ensued  in  the  darkness,  which  unfortunately  destroyed 
the  confidence  of  the  American  militia ;  but  eventually  both  armies 
drew  off,  resolving  to  await  daylight  before  they  engaged  in  the 
deadly  strife.  Profound  silence  now  fell  over  the  landscape,  no 
sound  being  heard  except  the  occasional  neigh  of  a  horse,  the  cry 
of  the  sentinel,  or  the  wind  moaning  among  the  lofty  pines. 

The  morning  rose  still  and  hazy.  Cornwallis  found  himself,  for- 
tunately, in  an  excellent  position.  His  army  covered  a  piece  of  firm 
ground,  bounded  on  the  right  and  left  by  morasses,  parallel  to  which 
a  highway  ran  through  the  centre  of  his  position.  He  accordingly 
drew  up  his  army  in  two  divisions :  the  right,  commanded  by 
Colonel  Webster,  reached  from  one  morass  to  the  highway ;  the 
left,  led  by  Lord  Rawdon,  extended  from  the  highway,  to  the  other 
morass  :  the  artillery  was  placed  in  front  of  the  highway,  as  it  were, 
between  the  two  divisions.  Tarleton,  with  his  cavalry,  was  on  the 
right  of  the  road,  in  readiness  to  charge  or  receive  the  enemy,  as 


BATTLE    OF    CAMDEN.  125 

occasion  might  require.  Gates  divided  his  van-guard  into  three 
columns  ;  the  right,  the  centre,  and  the  left,  commanded  respectively 
by  Generals  Gist,  Caswell,  and  Stevens.  Behind  the  left  column, 
which  was  composed  of  the  Virginia  militia,  were  posted  the  light 
infantry  of  Porterfield  and  Armstrong.  Colonel  Armand,  with  his 
cavalry,  faced  the  legion  of  Tarleton.  The  continental  troops  of 
Delaware  and  Maryland  formed  the  reserve.  Unfortunately,  just  as 
the  action  was  about  to  begin,  Gates,  not  exactly  liking  the  position 
of  his  left  and  centre  columns,  undertook  to  change  them.  The  eagle 
eye  of  Cornwallis  saw  the  advantage  this  error  afforded  him,  and 
instantly,  he  hurled  the  veteran  grenadiers  of  Webster  on  the  still 
wavering  line.  The  English  advanced  in  splendid  order,  now  pour- 
ing in  their  fire,  now  charging  with  the  bayonet.  For  a  while,  the 
smoke  shrouded  the  combatants  from  sight,  but  the  suspense  was 
soon  over,  for  the  Virginians,  breaking  wildly  from  the  vapory 
canopy,  were  seen  flying  in  all  directions.  Their  rout  exposed  the 
flank  of  the  next  column,  which  in  turn  gave  way.  Gates  and 
Caswell  made  some  efforts  to  check  the  panic,  but  in  vain;  for 
Tarleton,  coming  down  at  a  gallop,  spread  renewed  terror  and  con- 
sternation among  the  fugitives,  who  plunged  themselves,  as  a  last 
hope,  into  the  woods  for  safety. 

The  whole  shock  of  battle  now  fell  on  the  reserves,  the  gallant 
regulars  of  Delaware  and  Maryland:  and  already  their  left  flank  was 
exposed,  while,  in  front,  a  victorious  foe  poured  down  to  the  attack. 
Then  was  shewn  the  difference  between  veterans  and  militia, 
between  discipline  and  the  want  of  it !  Environed  by  foes,  and  left 
alone  on  that  sanguinary  field,  the  little  band,  not  a  thousand  strong, 
still  made  good  its  ground.  Opposing  the  enemy  with  a  terrible  fire, 
or  by  the  push  of  the  bayonet,  they,  for  a  while,  withstood  all  his 
efforts.  The  Baron  de  Kalb  led  them  several  times  to  the  charge, 
and  they  even  regained,  lost  ground,  and  took  some  prisoners.  A 
few  hundred  more  of  such  veterans  would  have  turned  the  fortunes 
of  that  bloody  day.  But  their  number  was  too  small  to  produce  a 
permanent  effect ;  and  at  last,  surrounded  on  all  sides,  and  pene- 
trated by  cavalry,  they  were  forced  from  the  field.  The  Baron  de 
Kalb  fell  in  this  desperate  struggle  mortally  wounded,  and  was 
abandoned  to  the  foe.  The  flight  now  became  general.  The  British 
pursued  the  fugitives  for  the  space  of  twenty-three  miles,  hewing 
mercilessly  down  all  they  overtook  :  and  to  this  day,  tradition  bears 
testimony  to  the  terrors  of  that  bloody  rout. 

The  loss,  in  this  battle,  for  the  Americans,  was  excessive,  consider- 
ing the  number  of  troops  engaged  :  it  was,  according  to  the  account 

L* 


126  THE  WAR  OF  INDEPENDENCE. 

.  <f  '     - 

of  Lord  Cornwallis,  about  eight  hundred  in  killed,  and  one  thousand 
in  prisoners.  As  the  rout  and  dispersion  was  so  total,  the  American 
General  could  never  tell  what  his  real  loss  was ;  but  the  English 
account  is  probably  exaggerated.  The  British  suffered  in  killed  and 
wounded,  three  hundred  and  twenty-five.  Gates  remained  on  the 
field  until  the  total  rout  of  the  militia,  when,  regarding  the  day 
lost,  he  retreated  to  Charlotte,  about  eighty  miles  distant,  with  only 
a  few  friends.  The  next  day,  about  one  hundred  and  fifty  soldiers, 
the  remnant  of  his  army,  arrived  at  the  same  place.  With  this 
slender  force,  Gates  retreated  to  Salisbury,  and  finally  to  Hills- 
borough. 

Another  disaster  soon  followed.  Sumpter,  a  few  days  before  the 
battle,  had  asked  a  reinforcement  of  four  hundred  men  from  Gates, 
to  enable  him  to  intercept  a  convoy  of  supplies,  destined  for  Lord 
Cornwallis.  He  obtained  the  men,  and  succeeded  in  capturing  the 
convoy.  But  hearing  of  the  defeat  at  Camden,  he  began  a  hasty 
retreat  up  the  Wateree,  with  his  prisoners  and  stores.  Tarleton 
gave  pursuit,  and  owing  to  the  negligence  of  the  sentinels,  surprised 
Sumpter  in  his  camp,  dispersing  his  force  with  a  loss  of  between 
three  and  four  hundred,  and  recovering  all  the  captured  stores. 

The  defeat  at  Camden  depreciated  the  reputation  of  Gates,  as 
much  as  the  capture  of  Burgoyne  had  exalted  it.  He  passed  at 
once  from  the  extreme  of  popularity  to  that  of  odium.  That  a  Gene- 
ral should  succeed  so  signally  in  the  one  instance,  and  fail  so  disgrace- 
fully in  the  other,  is  a  fact  which  has  been  considered  inexplicable. 
But  the  secret  of  the  paradox  lies  in  the  character  of  Gates.  Though 
an  acccomplished  gentleman,  and  a  finished  officer,  he  was  not  a 
great  General,  in  any  sense  of  the  term.  He  entered  on  the  northern 
campaign  after  the  net  had-  been  spread  which  afterwards  enclosed 
Burgoyne,  and  when  all  that  was  left  for  him  to  perform,  was  to 
conduct  the  drama  gracefully  to  the  end :  this  no  man  could  do  bet- 
ter. But  when  he  came  to  operate  in  a  different  region  of  country, 
he  shewed  that  want  of  adaptation  to  circumstances  which  is  so  fre- 
quently the  ruin  of  military  reputations.  He  hurried  on,  when  he 
should  have  moved  slowly  :  he  relied  on  badly  disciplined  troops, 
when  he  ought  to  have  waited  until  they  were  better  drilled :  he 
undertook  to  move  militia  in  the  face  of  a  foe,  a  manoBuvre  only  to 
be  performed  by  veteran  troops.  After  the  battle,  his  despondency 
was  as  excessive  as  his  exhilaration  before  had  been  undue.  In  a 
word,  his  was  one  of  those  minds  which,  in  ordinary  times,  like  gay 
pleasure-barks,  are  safe  enough,  but  which,  when  different  occasions 
arise,  and  the  horizon  darkens  with  tempests,  lose  their  equipoise 


DEFEAT  OP    MAJOR    FERGUSON.  127 

and  go  down  forever.  One  of  the  first  acts  of  Congress,  on  hearing 
of  the  disaster  of  Camden,  was  to  supersede  Gates.  The  choice  of 
a  successor  was  left  to  Washington,  who  selected  General  Greene,  a 
man,  as  events  proved,  every  way  competent  for  the  office. 

The  victory  at  Camden  left  the  British  once  more  an  undisputed 
supremacy,  which  Cornwallis  proceeded  to  assert  with  terrible,  if  not 
impolitic  rigor.  Under  his  orders,  every  militia  man  who  had  borne 
arms  with  the  British,  and  afterwards  joined  the  Americans,  was  to 
be  put  to  death  ;  and  numbers  of  unhappy  victims,  in  consequence, 
perished  on  the  gallows.  Those  who  had  once  submitted,  but  who 
had  subsequently  taken  up  arms,  were  to  be  imprisoned,  and  their 
property  confiscated.  The  iron  hoof  of  the  conquerer  was  thus 
made  to  trample  on  the  breast  of  the  humblest  as  well  as  of  the 
most  proud.  Despair  took  possession  of  the  miserable  inhabitants. 
Escape  from  this  awful  tyranny  seemed  hopeless.  At  first,  beguiled 
or  terrified  into  joining  the  party  of  the  King  ;  then  lured  to  that  of 
Gates  by  the  prospect  of  a  speedy  delivery  from  their  oppressors ; 
and  now  again  cast  back,  disarmed  and  powerless,  into  the  merciless 
arms  of  the  conquerer ;  they  saw  no  hope  of  relief  unless  by  a  mira- 
cle from  heaven. 

The  first  gleam  of  success  came  from  a  victory  won  chiefly  by 
militia,  a  species  of  force  which,  in  this  war,  gained  some  of  the 
most  gallant  triumphs,  as  well  as  caused  some  of  the  most  dis- 
graceful defeats.  Major  Ferguson  had  been  sent  by  Cornwallis, 
into  North  Carolina,  to  raise  and  embody  the  tories,  a  task  which  he 
executed  with  success.  He  was  conducting  his  new  levies  to  the 
royal  camp,  when  he  learned  that  General  Clarke,  of  Georgia,  after 
an  unsuccessful  attempt  on  Augusta,  was  retreating.  Major  Fergu- 
son instantly  resolved  to  cut  him  off.  But  a  party  of  mountaineers 
from  North  Carolina  and  Virginia,  hastily  assuming  arms,  intercepted 
Ferguson,  himself,  near  Gilbert-town.  Finding  escape  impossible, 
he  fell  back  to  King's  Mountain,  where  he  made  a  stand.  The 
Americans  advanced  in  three  divisions.  Ferguson  gallantly  repulsed 
the  first  with  the  bayonet:  but  while  thus  occupied,  the  second 
attacked  him :  this  also  he  drove  back.  Meantime,  the  third  had 
come  into  action,  but  while  engaged  with  this,  the  other  two  rallied 
and  returned  to  the  charge.  Ferguson  now  fell  mortally  wounded, 
and  his  men,  struck  with  dismay,  surrendered.  In  this  action,  the 
British  lost  one  hundred  and  fifty  killed,  as  many  wounded,  and  eight 
hundred  prisoners.  The  American  loss  was  inconsiderable,  except  in 
the  death  of  Colonel  Williams.  Cruelty  begets  cruelty,  and  smarting 
under  the  remembrance  of  Camden,  the  Americans  selected  ten  of 


128  THE   WAR  OF    INDEPENDENCE. 

their  prisoners,  and  hung  them  on  the  spot.     After  this,  the  victors 
disbanded  and  returned  home. 

The  success  of  this,  bold  enterprise  led  to  the  beginning  of  that 
partizan  warfare,  which,  from  this  time  forward,  was  prosecuted  with 
such  success  by  the  Americans.     The  two  prominent  leaders  in  this 
species  of  warfare,  were  Generals  Sumpter  and  Marion.     Sumpter 
was  impetuous,  chivalric,  often  rash,  and  brave  to  a  fault :  his  ene- 
mies gave  him  the  coarse  but  expressive  nickname  of  the  "  game- 
cock."    Marion  was  wary,  subtle,  ever  on  the  watch,  quick  as 
lightning  to  advance  or  to  retreat :  the  British,  affecting  to  despise 
his  superior  caution,  called  him  "  the  swamp  fox."     Sumpter,  after 
the  dispersion  of  his  corps  by  Tarleton,  raised  a  body  of  volunteers, 
and  plunging  boldly  into  the  heart  of  South  Carolina,  maintained 
himself  there  for  three  months,  harassing  the  enemy  continually,  and 
securing  his  safety  by  the  rapidity  of  his  movements  from  point  to 
point.     At  Broad  River,  Major  Wemyss,  at  the  head  of  a  force  of 
infantry  and  dragoons,  came  up  with  him  ;  but  was  totally  defeated, 
and  himself  taken  prisoner.     At  Tyger  River,  his  old  adversary, 
Tarleton,  attacked  him,  but  was  beaten  off  with  loss.     When  the 
British  army  went  into  winter  quarters,  Sumpter  still  kept  the  field, 
capturing  parties  sent  out  to  forage,  and  dealing  a  blow  wherever 
possible.   Marion's  movements,  for  a  time,  were  less  bold.     Begin- 
ning, at  first,  with  but  a  few  men,  his  followers  gradually  increased 
to  a  respectable  force  :  and  with  this  he  now  began  to  traverse  the 
country,  often  at  night,  and  always  with  rapidity.     His  blows  fell 
in  all  directions,  and  where  least  expected.     The  British,  hearing  of 
him  at  one  place,  would  hasten  to  pursue  him,  but  Marion,  wheeling 
on  their  rear,  would  strike,  perhaps,  the  very  position  they  had 
abandoned.     Often,  at  sunrise,  he  would  be  sixty  miles  from  the 
place  where  he  had  been  seen  at  sunset  the  night  before.     His  little 
army  varied  continually,  the  men  coming  and  returning  as  they 
found  convenient :  sometimes  he  had  a  hundred  followers,  some- 
times scarcely  a  dozen  :  in  consequence,  many  of  his  best  conceived 
enterprises  had  to  be  abandoned  for  want  of  troops.     His  influence, 
however,  continued  gradually  extending:  risking  little,  he  in  the 
end  gained  much :  and  when  the  war  closed,  perhaps  no  man,  after 
Greene,  stood  higher  in  the  estimation  of  the  southern  colonists,  or  was 
regarded  as  having  contributed  more  to  the  success  of  the  struggle. 

The  victories  at  King's  Mountain  and  Tyger  River,  induced 
Cornwallis,  who  at  first  had  advanced  towards  North  Carolina,  to 
fall  back  again  on  Camden.  As  he  retired,  Gates  advanced.  Another 
army,  though  small  in  number,  had  gradually  gathered  itself  around 


BATTLE    OP    THE    COWPENS.  129 

the  defeated  General.  Concluding  that  active  operations  would  be 
postponed  until  spring,  Gates  retired  into  winter  quarters,  at  Char- 
lotte. Here  he  was  when,  on  the  2nd  of  December,  Greene  arrived 
to  supercede  him.  In  this  delicate  affair  both  Generals  acquitted 
themselves  handsomely.  Gates  yielded  up  the  command  with 
dignified  resignation,  and  Greene  paid  his  predecessor  the  delicate 
compliment  of  confirming  his  standing  orders. 

The  new  commander  immediately  proceeded  to  review  his  troops. 
He  found  them  to  consist  of  nine  hundred  and  seventy  continentals, 
and  one  thousand  and  thirteen  militia.  Of  all  these,  however,  there 
were  but  eight  hundred  properly  clad  and  equipped  for  service. 
The  artillery  consisted  of  two  brass  field  pieces,  besides  several  of 
iron.  The  magazines  were  empty.  The  neighboring  country  was 
almost  a  waste,  and  provisions  would  have  been  difficult  to  procure 
even  with  money,  but  Greene  had  not  a  penny.  This  was  a  situa- 
tion to  drive  a  General  to  despair.  But  Greene,  of  all  the  men  of 
the  Revolution,  was  next  to  Washington,  the  man  of  most  equal 
mind.  Misfortune  had  no  power  to  depress,  as  success  had  no 
capacity  to  elate  him.  He  began  immediately,  as  Washington  had 
done  at  Cambridge,  to  remedy  the  evils  that  surrounded  him.  He 
reformed  the  Quartermaster's  department ;  he  inspired  confidence  in 
the  men,  yet  at  the  same  time  tightened  the  reins  of  discipline :  he 
made  himself  aquainted  with  the  country  in  which  he  had  come  to 
operate ;  and,  as  a  preliminary  measure,  appointed  Kusciusko  to 
prepare  flat-bottomed  boats,  to  have  at  hand,  in  which  to  cross  the 
numerous  rivers  with  which  the  two  Carolinas  are  intersected. 

His  first  movement  was  to  despatch  Morgan  west  of  the  Catawba, 
in  order  to  encourage  the  inhabitants  in  that  quarter.  Morgan's 
force  consisted  of -three  hundred  regulars,  commanded  by  Lieutenant 
Colonel  Howard,  the  light  dragoons,  of  Captain  Washington,  and 
ten  companies  of  militia  from  Virginia,  composed  chiefly  of  old  con- 
tinentals. Greene,  after  making  this  detachment,  moved  his  own 
camp  down  the  Pedee.  He  was  here  about  seventy  miles  north- 
east from  Wynnsborough,  where  Cornwallis  lay  awaiting  reinforce- 
ments ;  Morgan  was  on  the  Pacolet,  about  fifty  miles  north-west  of 
Cornwallis.  In  these  relative  positions  of  the  three  armies,  the 
British  General  determined  to  advance  on  North  Carolina,  and  in 
his  way,  to  strike  at  one  of  the  American  divisions,  while  unsup- 
ported by  the  other.  He  had  just  been  joined  by  General  Leslie, 
with  reinforcements,  enabling  him  thus  to  assume  the  offensive. 
Accordingly  he  moved  north-westward,  between  the  Catawba  and 
Broad  Rivers.  Meantime  he  detached  Tarleton  to  attack  Morgan. 
17 


130  THE  WAR  OF  INDEPENDENCE. 

It  will  be  seen,  from  the  route  chosen  by  Cornwallis,  that  even  if 
Morgan  escaped  Tarleton,  there  was  a  cnance  of  his  being  inter- 
cepted by  Cornwallis  himself. 

On  the  14th  of  January,  1781,  General  Morgan,  for  the  first  time, 
learned  his  danger.  Though  pursued  by  a  much  superior  foe,  he 
resolved  nevertheless  to  give  battle.  For  this  purpose  he  halted  at 
a  place  called  the  Cowpens.  He  drew  up  his  best  troops,  consisting 
of  the  regulars  and  old  continentals,  in  number  between  four  and 
five  hundred  men,  on  an  eminence  in  an  open  wood.  In  their  rear, 
on  the  descent  of  the  hill,  he  posted  Washington's  cavalry,  and 
some  mounted  militia  men  from  Georgia.  On  these  two  corps 
rested  his  hopes  of  victory.  The  militia  were  posted  in  front,  to 
receive  the  first  shock  of  battle,  with  orders  to  give  a  single  fire  as 
the  enemy  approached,  and  then  fall  back,  firing  by  regiments,  until 
they  had  passed  the  regulars,  on  whose  right  they  were  ordered 
to  form. 

Tarleton  began  the  attack  with  his  usual  impetuosity,  his  men 
shouting  as  they  advanced.  The  militia  fell  back,  as  ordered.  The 
British,  pressing  their  advantage,  rushed  gallantly  on,  and  with  their 
superior  numbers  soon  outflanked  the  little  line  of  continentals. 
Perceiving  this,  Howard,  who  commanded  them,  ordered  the  com- 
pany on  his  right  to  change  its  front  so  as  to  face  the  enemy  on  its 
flank.  The  order  was  misunderstood,  and  the  company  fell  back : 
on  which,  the  whole  line,  adopting  the  error,  began  to  retreat,  but 
slowly  and  in  good  order.  At  this  crisis  General  Morgan  galloped 
in  person  to  the  head  of  the  line,  and  ordered  it  to  retire  over  the 
brow  of  the  hill  to  where  the  cavalry  was  posted.  Believing  victory 
theirs,  for  they  looked  on  this  movement  as  a  retreat,  the  British 
dashed  impetuously  forward  and  in  some  disorder ;  but  they  had 
scarcely  crossed  the  hill  when  the  Americans  suddenly  halted,  with- 
in thirty  yards,  and  gave  them  a  withering  volley.  At  this  unex- 
pected check,  the  royal  troops  halted  in  some  confusion.  A  moment 
would  have  restored  their  confidence ;  but  Howard  did  not  give  it  to 
them :  instantly  seeing  his  advantage,  he  ordered  his  men  to  charge 
with  the  bayonet.  The  solid  front  of  steel  bore  every  thing  before  it. 
The  British  line  was  broken.  At  the  same  moment  the  enemy's 
cavalry,  who,  the  instant  the  militia  began  to  retire,  had  galloped  in 
pursuit,  were  charged  by  Washington,  and  the  rout  of  the  royal 
troops  became  general  on  all  sides.  Both  Howard  and  Washington 
pressed  their  advantage.  The  latter  pursued  the  flying  enemy  for 
some  distance  and  in  the  eagerness  of  pursuit,  had  nearly  paid  for 
his  temerity  by  his  life.  In  this  action  the  British  lost  one  hundred 


BATTLE    OF    THE    COVVPENS. 


131 


BATTLE   OF   THE   COWTKXS. 


killed,  and  over  five  hundred  prisoners.  Two  field  pieces,  two 
standards,  eight  hundred  muskets,  and  numerous  baggage  wagons 
and  dragoon  horses  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  Americans.  The  vic- 
tors lost  but  eighty  men  in  killed  and  wounded.  For  "the  number 
of  persons  engaged  this  was  one  of  the  most  brilliant  victories  of  the 
war:  and  in  its  consequences  was  of  almost  incalculable  importance. 
It  deprived  Cornwallis  of  one-fifth  of  his  army.  Had  Greene  been 
in  a  condition  to  follow  it  up,  might  have  led  to  the  total  overthrow 
of  the  British  supremacy  in  the  Carolinas :  but  the  American  Gene- 
ral had  scarcely  two  thousand  men,  and  most  of  these  were  militia, 
a  force  with  which  it  would  have  been  madness  to  have  sought  the 
foe.  The  army  that  Gates  lost  at  Camden  would  have  been 
invaluable  to  his  successor  in  this  crisis. 

The  battle  field  at  Cowpens  was  about  the  same  distance  from  the 
fords  of  Catawba  as  was  the  Camp  of  Lord  Cornwallis ;  and  as  it 
was  necessary  to  cross  the  Catawba  before  he  could  re-unite  with 
Greene,  an  event  now  indispensable  for  the  safety  of  both,  Morgan 
lost  no  time  in  pushing  for  the  fords.  He  arrived  there  on  the  23rd, 
and  immediately  crossed.  But  Cornwallis  was  close  on  his  rear. 
That  officer  had  devoted  a  day  to  collecting  the  fugitives  from  the 
Cowpens,  and  had  then  hurried  forward  to  the  Catawba,  hoping  to 
overtake  Morgan  before  the  latter  passed  it.  Finding  the  American 


132  THE  WAR  OP  INDEPENDENCE. 

General  had  already  crossed,  the  British  commander  resolved  to 
follow  up  the  chase ;  for  unless  he  could  prevent  the  junction  of 
Morgan  and  Greene,  the  fruits  of  Camden  were  already  lost.  That 
he  might  move  with  the  more  celerity  he  destroyed  his  baggage. 
On  the  morning  of  the  1st  of  February,  having  been  detained  two 
days  by  rains,  which  had  swollen  the  river,  he  forced  a  passage, 
defeating  the  militia  under  Davidson,  who  had  been  left  to  guard 
the  stream.  The  retreat  of  the  Americans  that  ensued  is  one  of  the 
most  memorable  in  history. 

Greene,  on  receiving  intelligence  of  the  victory  at  the  Cowpens, 
detached  Stevens  with  his  brigade  of  Virginia  militia  to  escort  the 
prisoners  taken  in  the  conflict,  to  Charlotteville,  Virginia.  He  then 
bent  the  whole  force  of  his  genius  to  effect  a  junction  between  the 
two  divisions  of  his  army.  For  this  purpose  he  left  General  Huger 
in  command  of  the  division  which  he  had  hitherto  accompanied  in 
person,  ordering  him  to  retreat  on  Salisbury,  where  he  hoped  to 
bring  Morgan  to  join  him :  and  then  hurried  himself,  almost  unat- 
tended, to  the  camp  of  the  latter  individual,  where  he  arrived  just 
before  Cornwallis  forced  the  Catawba.  He  now  retreated  with 
Morgan's  little  force  to  the  Yadkin,  the  British  General  struggling 
to  reach  it  first.  Greene,  however,  arrived  on  its  banks  in  advance 
and  immediately  crossed ;  but  so  close  was  the  enemy  behind,  that 
the  van  of  the  one  army  reached  the  shore  as  the  rear  of  the  other 
left  it.  Here  chance  again  interposed  in  favor  of  the  Americans. 
The  Yadkin  was  already  swollen,  but  in  the  night  it  swelled  still 
more,  and  being  without  boats,  the  British  could  not  keep  up  the 
pursuit.  Accordingly  Greene  had  a  moment's  respite,  which  he 
employed  in  effecting  a  junction  with  Huger. 

Thus  foiled  in  his  hope  of  cutting  off  the  division  of  Morgan,  from 
that  of  Huger,  Cornwallis,  after  some  hesitation,  resolved  by  throw- 
ing himself  between  Greene  and  Virginia,  to  force  that  officer  to 
a  general  action  before  the  reinforcements  known  to  be  preparing 
for  him  in  Virginia  could  arrive.  At  present,  the  army  of  Greene 
numbered  but  two  thousand ;  that  of  Cornwallis,  nearly  one-third 
more :  consequently  the  latter,  in  a  pitched  battle,  was  certain  to 
crush  the  former.  The  position  of  Lord  Cornwallis  favored  the 
design.  Unable  to  cross  the  Yadkin  after  Greene,  he  had  marched 
up  that  river,  and  effected  a  passage  near  its  source.  This  placed 
him  nearer  than  his  rival  to  the  fords  of  the  Dan  River,  which  still 
lay  between  Greene  and  safety  :  and  as  he  was  informed  there  were 
no  boats  below  by  which  the  Americans  could  cross,  he  felt  sure 
of  his  prey. 


GREENE'S  RETREAT  IN  NORTH  CAROLINA.  133 

The  nearest  ferry  to  Greene  was  Dix's,  fifty  miles  off;  and  it 
was  about  equidistant  from  the  two  armies.     Lower  down  the  Dan, 
and  about  seventy  miles  from  Greene,  were  two  other  ferries,  only 
four  miles  apart.     By  retreating  on  these  lower  ferries,  a  considera- 
ble start  would  be  gained  on  Cornwallis.     The  only  difficulty  was 
in  the  want  of  boats,  in  which  to  cross.     To  collect  a  sufficient  num- 
ber, an  express  was  sent  ahead,  which  succeeded,  with  infinite  labor, 
in  procuring  the  required  quantity.     One  thing  more  remained  to  be 
done.     It  was  necessary  to  deceive  Cornwallis  as  long  as  possible 
with  respect  to  the  route  taken  by  the  main  body  of  the  Americans ; 
and  accordingly  a  light  corps  was  formed  of  the  cavalry,  and  a 
number  of  picked  infantry,  the  command  of  the  whole  being  given 
to  Colonel  Williams,  with  orders  to  form  a  rear-guard,  and  take  the 
road  to  Dix's,  while  Greene  quietly  drew  off  in  front  towards  the 
lower  ferries.     The  stratagem  fully  succeeded.     Cornwullis  pressed 
on,  assured  that  the  main  body  of  his  enemy  was  before  him,  and 
certain  of  being  able  to  cut  it  to  pieces  when  arrested  by  the  Dan. 
To  increase  the  deception,  Williams  hung  back  close  on  the  rear  of 
his  pursuers,  his  own  men  and  those  of  Cornwallis  frequently  being 
within  musket  shot.     At  last,  thinking   time   had  been   afforded 
Greene  to  cross  the  Dan,  Williams  abandoned  the  road  to  Dix's, 
and  pushed  for  the  lower  ferry.     Cornwallis,  now  first  perceiving 
the  trick  of  which  he  had  been  a  victim,  pressed  furiously  in  his 
rear.     It  is  said  that  both  the   British   and   Americans  marched 
forty  miles  in  the  last  twenty-four  hours ;  and  that  the  escape  of 
Williams  was  so  narrow,  that  his  rear  had  scarcely  touched  the 
northern  bank  of  the  Dan  when  the  enemy  reached  the  southern 
one.     Williams  crossed  on  the  14th  of  February ;  Greene  had  crossed 
two  days  before. 

By  this  masterly  retreat  Greene  regained  the  base  of  his  opera- 
tions, and  threw  himself  in  the  way  of  reinforcements ;  while  Corn- 
wallis was  drawn  away  from  his  communications,  and  lured  into  a 
hostile  country.  The  merit  of  this  achievement  is  increased  when 
we  consider  that  it  was  executed  in  winter,  through  deep  and  frozen 
roads,  and  that  the  Americans  were  almost  naked,  and  but  scantily 
supplied  with  provisions.  On  tke  other  hand,  the  British  troops 
were  well  clothed  and  well  fed.  The  disastrous  consequences  of 
the  retreat,  to  Cornwallis,  soon  began  to  be  seen.  That  officer  at 
first  had  advanced  to  Hillsborough,  and  issuing  a  proclamation,  in 
which  he  asserted  he  had  driven  Greene  out  of  North  Carolina, 
called  on  the  inhabitants  to  acknowledge  the  royal  authority.  But 
the  American  General,  having  been  reinforced  by  six  hundred 

M 


134  THE  WAR  OF  INDEPENDENCE. 

militia,  resolved  to  turn  on  his  foe,  and  on  the  IStn  of  February, 
re-crossed  the  Dan.  He  did  not  take  this  step  a  moment  too  soon. 
There  had  always  been  a  large  number  of  loyalists  in  North  Caro- 
lina, and  these,  now  animated  by  the  presence  of  Cornwallis,  began 
to  show  symptoms  of  taking  arms.  To  favor  their  rising,  and  con- 
duct them  afterwards  to  Camp,  the  British  General  despatched 
Tarleton  to  Haw  River,  where  the  greatest  numbers  of  these  tories 
dwelt ;  but  Lieutenant  Colonel  Lee  and  General  Pickens  having 
been  sent  by  Greene  to  frustrate  this  movement,  and  arriving  first, 
surprised  and  totally  cut  to  pieces  the  royalists  already  up,  and  by 
the  terrible  example  prevented  others  from  rising.  Tarleton  himself 
narrowly  escaped  being  intercepted,  and  was  only  saved  by  an 
express  sent,  by  Cornwallis,  to  give  him  warning. 

A  fortnight  was  now  spent  by  the  two  armies  in  manosuvreing  in 
face  of  each  other :  the  object  of  one  being  to  approach  more  nearly 
the  district  occupied  by  the  loyalists,  and  the  aim  of  the  other  being 
to  frustrate  this.  In  the  course  of  this  fortnight  Greene,  fearing  a 
surprise,  changed  his  camp  every  night.  His  light  troops,  during  the 
same  period,  signalized  themselves  by  the  most  daring  conduct,  and 
were  of  incalculable  value.  At  last,  having  received  a  portion  of 
the  reinforcements  he  had  been  waiting  for,  the  American  General 
resolved  to  gratify  his  adversary,  whose  great  object,  from  the  hour 
when  he  crossed  the  Catawba  had  been  to  bring  General  Greene  to 
battle.  On  the  14th  of  March,  accordingly,  the  American  army 
advanced  to  Guildford  Court-House,  and  there  awaited  the  British, 
who  were  but  eight  miles  off. 

The  ensuing  day  broke  clear  and  calm.  Early  in  the  morning, 
the  approach  of  Cornwallis  was  made  known,  and  Greene  proceeded 
to  draw  up  his  men  in  order  of  battle.  The  hill  on  which  Guildford 
Court-House  stands,  slopes  downwards  with  an  undulating  sweep, 
for  nearly  half  a  mile  to  a  little  valley,  through  which  runs  a  rivulet. 
Near  the  foot  of  this  hill,  and  behind  a  fence,  Greene  posted  his  first 
line,  consisting  of  two  brigades  of  North  Carolina  militia.  About 
three  hundred  yards  in  the  rear  of  these,  in  a  wood,  half  way  up  the 
hill,  the  second  line,  consisting  of  two  brigades  of  Virginia  troops,  was 
drawn  up.  The  third  line  was  afr  the  top  of  the  hill,  three  hundred 
yards  behind  the  second  line,  and  was  composed  of  the  regulars,  the 
Virginia  brigade  on  the  right,  and  the  Maryland  brigade  on  the  left. 
Washington's  cavalry  guarded  the  extremities  of  the  right  flank  : 
Lee's  legion,  with  Campbell's  riflemen,  were  on  the  left  flank. 
These  three  able  officers  were  stationed  in  the  woods  at  the  ends  of 
the  first  line.  The  artillery,  except  two  pieces,  under  Captain  Sin- 


BATTLE  OP  GUILDFORD  COURT-HOUSE.  .          135 

gleton,  which  were  pushed  forward  in  front  of  the  first  line,  was 
with  the  regulars,  at  the  top  of  the  hill. 

About  one  o'clock  the  British  came  in  sight,  and  shortly  after,  the 
artillery  of  the  two  armies  began  the  action.  Cornwallis,  relying 
on  the  discipline  and  tried  courage  of  his  troops,  resolved  to  trust  the 
struggle  to  a  single  impetuous  charge,  and  accordingly,  having  formed 
his  line  of  battle,  pushed  his  columns  across  the  brook,  and  the  dif- 
ferent corps,  deploying  to  right  and  left,  were  soon  formed  in  line. 
The  instant  this  was  done,  they  began  to  advance.  Greene  had 
hoped  that  the  militia,  protected  by  the  fence,  would  at  least  be  able 
to  give  the  enemy  two  or  three  fires  before  they  fled ;  but  the  impo- 
sing front  and  the  loud  huzzas  of  the  approaching  foe,  struck  a  panic 
to  their  hearts  :  and  when  the  grenadiers,  throwing  in  a  deadly  vol- 
ley, levelled  their  bayonets  and  rushed  on,  the  militia,  without 
waiting  for  the  shock,  fled,  throwing  away  their  still  loaded  guns. 
In  vain  Lee  spurred  among  them,  and  endeavored  to  allay  their 
terror  ;  in  vain  other  officers  exhorted  and  threatened  :  the  fugitives 
could  not  be  stopped,  but  flung  themselves,  mad  with  fear,  into  the 
woods.  Cheering  as  they  advanced,  the  British  now  poured  onwards, 
and  soon  came  up  with  the  second  line.  But  here  they  met  a 
momentary  check.  Undismayed  by  the  flight  of  the  North  Caro- 
linians, the  gallant  Virginians,  sheltered,  in  part,  behind  the  trees, 
kept  up  a  galling  and  incessant  fire.  In  numerical  force,  however, 
their  assailants  were  far  superior,  and  at  last,  the  right  flank  began 
to  give  ground.  It  did  not,  however,  fall  back  directly,  but  swung 
around,  as  on  a  pivot,  on  its  other  extremity.  There,  on  the  left, 
the  retiring  forces  of  Lee  and  Campbell,  assisting  the  militia,  main- 
tained the  battle  with  stubborn  resolution,  and  as  yet  did  not  yield 
an  inch. 

By  the  retreat  of  the  right  of  the  second  line,  however,  a  portion 
of  the  third  and  last  line,  consisting  of  Gunby's  first  Maryland 
regiment,  was  exposed  to  the  British,  who  now  came  dashing  up  the 
hill,  assured  of  victory.  But  here,  for  the  first  time,  they  met  vete- 
rans, like  themselves.  A  shattering  volley  made  them  recoil,  and 
before  they  could  recover  themselves,  the  bayonet  was  upon  them. 
They  broke  and  fled.  Could  Gunby  have  been  now  sustained,  the 
rout  would  have  been  complete.  But  his  presence  was  wanted  to 
arrest  ruin  and  disaster  in  another  quarter  :  for  while  he  had  been 
sustaining  his  position,  the  left  of  the  second  line,  after  a  gallant 
resistance,  had  finally  given  way,  like  the  right,  and  fallen  back  on  the 
second  Maryland  regiment,  forming  the  left  of  the  third  line.  This 
gave  way  shamefully  at  the  first  onset.  But,  at  this  crisis,  Gunby 


136  THE  WAR  OF  INDEPENDENCE. 

wheeled  his  little  band  through  a  belt  of  saplings  to  his  left, 
and  came  unexpectedly  on  the  victorious  British.  A  desperate 
struggle  ensued.  At  last,  Washington  galloped  to  the  rescue  with 
his  cavalry,  and  the  enemy  began  to  waver,  on  which  Gunby's 
regiment  threw  in  the  bayonet.  The  shock  was  irresistible.  The 
British  fled,  pursued  by  the  Americans,  and  the  day  would  have 
been  irretrievably  lost,  if  Cornwallis,  desperate  at  approaching 
defeat,  had  not  opened  his  artillery  on  the  driving  mass  of  fugitives 
and  pursuers,  and  by  the  sacrifice  of  foe  and  friend  alike,  arrested  the 
torrent. 

That  part  of  the  British  force  first  repulsed  by  Gunby,  had  now 
rallied :  the  wreck  of  the  battalion,  defeated  on  the  left,  was  being 
gathered  and  re-formed,  and  soon  nearly  the  whole  British  force 
was  again  in  the  field,  though  shattered  and  disheartened.  Corn- 
wallis, resolute  to  conquer,  prepared  to  renew  the  attack.  With 
disciplined  troops,  Greene  would  not  have  feared  for  the  result.  But 
the  conduct  of  more  than  half  his  men  had  been  so  digraceful  that 
he  thought  it  best  not  to.  hazard  the  day  further  ;  and  accordingly 
drew  off,  retiring  in  good  order  beyond  Reedy  Fork,  where  he 
halted  three  miles  from  the  field  of  battle.  Waiting  here,  until  he 
had  collected  his  stragglers,  he  then  retreated  to  his  camp  at 
Troublesome  Creek.  The  last  to  leave  the  field  of  battle  were  Lee 
and  Campbell,  who  continued  skirmishing  long  after  all  others  had 
retired. 

In  this  battle,  the  loss  of  the  Americans  was  two  hundred  and 
seventy,  of  which  the  principal  part  fell  on  the  regulars.  The 
British  lost  nearly  six  hundred,  a  fourth  of  their  number.  The  vic- 
tory was  unquestionably  with  Cornwallis,  though  the  Americans 
suffered  rather  a  repulse  than  a  defeat.  In  its  effects,  however,  the 
battle  of  Guildford  Court-House  answered  very  nearly  the  purposes 
of  a  triumph  for  the  Americans.  "  Another  such  victory,"  said 
Fox,  in  the  House  of  Commons,.  "  would  ruin  the  British  army." 
Immediately  after  the  battle,  Cornwallis  began  retreating,  and  when 
Greene,  a  few  days  subsequently,  pushed  forward  Lee  to  harass  his 
rear,  this  retreat  became  a  virtual  flight.  Abandoning  his  wounded, 
Cornwallis  retired  with  such  precipitation,  that  the  American  Gene- 
ral, notwithstanding  he  urged  the  chase  with  all  his  speed,  could 
not  overtake  the  fugitive. 

After  a  painful  march,  Lord  Cornwallis  reached  Wilmington,  on 
the  7th  of  April.  Here  he  called  a  council  of  officers,  to  decide 
whether  to  advance  on  Virginia,  or  retreat  towards  South  Carolina. 
Considerable  diversity  of  opinion  prevailed,  but  on  the  whole,  a 


CAPTURE    OF    THE    BRITISH    POSTS.  137 

majority  favored  the  advance  on  Virginia.  Accordingly,  after  resting 
his  troops  for  about  three  weeks,  the  British  General  directed  his 
march  on  Petersburg.  In  this  emergency,  Greene  hesitated  for  a 
while  what  course  to  take.  If  he  followed  Cornwallis  into  Virginia, 
he  abandoned  the  Carolinas  to  their  fate :  if  he  returned  to  the  Caro- 
linas,  he  left  Virginia  an  easy  prey  to  Cornwallis.  He  reflected 
that  the  line  of  posts  which  the  English  had  established  from  Ninety- 
Six  to  Charleston,  was  the  real  base  of  their  operations,  and  that  if, 
by  returning  to  South  Carolina,  he  could  wrest  them  from  the  enemy, 
their  loss  would  be  a  greater  evil  to  Cornwallis,  than  any  conquests 
elsewhere  could  compensate.  Besides,  the  militia  positively  refused 
to  follow  Cornwallis  into  Virginia,  and  thus  abandon  their  own 
homes  to  destruction.  Moreover  there  was  in  a  return  to  South 
Carolina  a  boldness  which  might  lead  the  enemy  to  believe  Greene 
was  acting  from  secret  reasons,  which  they  could  not  comprehend. 
Actuated  by  these  reasons,  the  American  General  abandoned  the 
pursuit  of  Cornwallis,  and  retracing  his  steps,  shifted  the  seat  of  war 
from  North  to  South  Carolina. 

The  wisdom  of  this  decision  was  vindicated  by  the  result.  Corn- 
wallis, after  ravaging  a  portion  of  Virginia,  found  himself,  at  last, 
assailed  by  a  new  army,  at  a  vast  distance  from  his  base,  and  being 
equally  unable  to  retreat  or  advance,  was  compelled  to  shut  himself 
up  in  Yorktown,  where  he  fell  a  comparatively  easy  prey  to  the 
Americans.  Greene,  on  the  contrary,  by  his  return  to  the  south, 
inspired  the  patriots  there  with  renewed  courage  ;  while  the  royal 
forces,  and  the  loyalists  were  correspondingly  depressed.  Leaving 
Cornwallis  for  the  present,  we  shall  follow  the  fortunes  of  Greene. 

On  the  5th  of  April,  1781,  the  American  General  began  his  march 
to  Camden,  his  intention  being  to  force  Lord  Rawdon,  the  successor 
of  Cornwallis,  to  abandon  that  post.  Lee,  with  his  legion,  was  sent 
in  advance,  with  orders  to  join  Marion.  These  two  officers  had 
acted  together  the  preceding  year  in  the  attack  on  Georgetown ; 
and  they  now  united  to  reduce  Fort  Watson,  one  of  the  chain  of 
British  posts  to  which  we  have  just  alluded.  On  the  22nd  of  April, 
after  eight  days  siege,  the  place  surrendered.  On  the  12th  of  the 
succeeding  month,  these  two  leaders  reduced  another  of  these  posts, 
Fort  Motte ;  and  three  days  after,  Fort  Granby  capitulated  to  Lee. 
That  active  officer  now  proceeded  to  the  neighborhood  of  Augusta, 
where,  joining  his  legion  to  the  forces  of  Pickens,  who  commanded 
a  body  of  militia  there,  the  two  leaders  succeeded  in  compelling  the 
British  garrison  at  the  place  to  capitulate  on  the  5th  of  June. 
Marion,  in  the  meantime,  had  marched  on  Georgetown,  which  was 
18  M* 


138  THE    WAR    OF    INDEPENDENCE. 

evacuated  by  the  enemy,  on  his  approach.  In  this  manner,  the 
chain  of  forts  forming  the  base  of  the  English  army's  operations, 
was  gradually  broken  up. 

Immediately  after  detaching  Lee,  Greene,  with  his  army  reduced 
to  about  eleven  hundred  men,  made  his  appearance  at  Hobkirk  Hill, 
a  mile  from  Camden.  On  the  25th  of  April,  Lord  Rawdon,  who, 
bold  and  able,  was  no  despicable  successor  of  Cornwallis,  sallied 
out  to  attack  him.  Greene  had  taken  a  strong  position,  which  he 
had  partly  entrenched  ;  but  Rawdon,  making  a  circuit,  came  down 
on  his  left  flank,  which  was  exposed.  The  English  marching  com 
pact  in  single  column,  Greene  resolved  to  redeem  the  day  by  assail- 
ing them  on  both  flanks,  while  Washington  should  turn  their  right 
and  assault  them  in  the  rear.  The  charge  of  the  Americans  was  so 
fierce  that  the  British  gave  way  at  first,  and  a  terrific  fire  of  grape- 
shot  on  their  rear,  from  an  American  battery,  increased  their 
disorder.  Rawdon,  as  a  last  resort,  called  up  his  reserves,  who, 
nothing  intimidated,  advanced  with  tumultuous  huzzas  ;  this  restored 
the  spirits  of  the  others,  and  for  a  while  the  two  armies,  meeting  in 
mutual  shock,  swayed  alternately  to  and  fro.  At  last  a  Maryland 
regiment  gave  way.  The  panic  spread  infectiously  through  the 
whole  line.  Several  attempts  were  made  by  the  officers  to  rally, 
but  in  vain :  the  English  bayonet  allowed  no  respite :  the  retreat 
became  general.  Washington,  who  had  gained  the  British  rear, 
finding  his  companions  retiring,  was  forced  in  turn  to  abandon  the 
day,  though  not  until  he  had  secured  several  prisoners.  Greene, 
after  his  repulse,  retired  on  Gum  Swamp,  about  five  miles  from  the 
field ;  Rawdon  fell  back  to  Camden,  in  which  place  he  shut  him- 
self up.  In  this  affair  the  British  lost  two  hundred  and  fifty-eight, 
in  killed,  wounded  and  missing;  the  Americans  about  an  equal 
number. 

It  was  Rawdon's  desire  to  retain  Camden  as  the  centre  of  his 
operations  ;  but  the  capitulation  of  Fort  Watson,  together  with  the 
threatened  loss  of  Forts  Motte,  Granby  and  Orangeburg,  all  posts 
situated  in  his  rear,  made  it  necessary  to  retire  on  Charleston.  Ac- 
cordingly, on  the  9th  of  May,  he  rased  the  fortifications,  and  aban- 
doned the  place.  Receiving  intelligence  on  his  retreat  of  the  capture 
of  the  three  forts  mentioned  above,  he  continued  his  retrograde  move- 
ment to  Euta w  Springs.  In  the  meantime  Greene,  perceiving  that  his 
adversary  had  abandoned  the  upper  country,  marched  on  Ninety- 
Six,  intending  first  to  reduce  that  post,  the  only  one  left  to  the  King, 
and  then  foibw  up  the  fugitives.  But  the  fort  being  unusually 
.strong,  could  only  be  taken  by  regular  approaches,  and  in  the  inter- 


THE    BATTLE    OF    EUTAW    SPRINGS.  139 

val  Rawdon,  having  been  reinforced  with  three  regiments  from 
Ireland,  felt  himself  sufficiently  able  to  advance  to  its  relief.  Greene, 
hearing  of  his  approach  with  a  superior  force,  resolved  to  hazard  an 
assault,  in  hopes  to  carry  the  place  thus ;  but  he  was  repulsed  with 
loss  ;  and  now,  no  other  resource  being  left,  he  broke  up  his  camp 
and  retreated.  Rawdon,  on  his  arrival  at  Ninety-Six,  finding  the 
place  not  tenable  against  a  long  continued  siege,  abandoned  it,  and 
thus  the  British  became  dispossessed  of  their  last  post  in  the  upper 
country.  The  royal  leader  now  retired  to  Orangeburg,  and  Greene 
took  possession  of  the  heights  of  the  Santee.  In  these  positions  the 
two  hostile  armies  continued  during  the  hot  and  sickly  season  that 
ensued,  the  usual  attendant  of  a  Carolina  summer.  It  was  during 
this  momentary  respite  that  Colonel  Hayne  was  executed  at  Charles- 
ton, on  the  10th  of  August,  1781,  for  having  borne  arms  on  the  side 
of  the  Americans,  after  signing  the  deceitful  declaration  of  Sir  Henry 
Clinton.  The  tragic  story  is  familiar  to  all,  and  we  will  not  rehearse 
it  here.  It  lent  additional  fury  to  the  already  savage  strife,  giving 
a  keener  poison  to  the  barbed  and  envenomed  arrows  of  war. 

In  the  beginning  of  September,  on  the  first  symptoms  of  relaxa- 
tion in  the  excessive  heat,  Greene,  now  reinforced  by  the  neighbor- 
ing militia,  left  his  camp  and  began  to  push  the  enemy  back  on 
Charleston.  The  British  retired  step  by  step,  forced  by  the  skilful 
manoeuvres  of  their  antagonist,  until,  on  the  7th  of  September,  they 
made  a  temporary  stand  at  Eutaw  Springs.  Here,  on  the  next  day, 
Greene  attacked  them.  The  royal  commander  formed  his  troops  in 
two  lines ;  the  American  leader  placed  his  militia  first,  and  support- 
ed them  behind  with  regulars.  At  first  the  battle  was  well  con- 
tested on  both  sides,  but  finally  the  American  militia  gave  way ;  on 
this  the  English  left,  too  eager  to  pursue,  broke  the  continuity  of 
their  line  by  advancing.  Greene  saw  the  favorable  crisis,  and 
instantly  precipitating  his  tried  veterans  on  the  gap  in  the  line,  the 
whole  British  army,  struck  with  sudden  panic,  gave  way,  corps 
tumbling  over  corps,  in  their  haste  to  reach  their  entrenchments. 
Upwards  of  five  hundred  of  them  had  already  been  taken  prisoners. 
Suddenly  a  portion  of  the  fugitives  reached  a  stone  house,  into 
which,  with  the  quickness  of  thought,  they  threw  themselves,  others 
rallied  behind  the  garden  palisades,  others  in  a  thick  copse  wood 
close  by.  This  happy  movement  saved  the  British  army  from 
utter  ruin.  The  retreat  was  checked :  the  battle  began  anew.  But 
all  the  efforts  of  the  Americans  to  dislodge  the  enemy  from  their 
strong  position  were  unavailing :  and  in  the  end  they  drew  off  their 
forces,  after  having  suffered  terribly  in  the  contest  to  gain  possession 


140  THE  WAR  OF    THE    REVOLUTION. 

of  the  house.  The  loss  of  both  parties  was  very  severe  in  this 
action :  the  Americans  had  five  hundred  killed,  wounded  and  miss- 
ing ;  the  English,  eleven  hundred. 

This  battle  may  be  considered  the  virtual  termination  of  the  war 
in  the  south,  as  the  capture  of  Cornwallis,  about  the  same  time, 
concluded  that  in  the  north.  Skirmishes  continued  to  occur  fre- 
quently between  the  outposts  of  the  two  armies ;  but  the  British 
after  this  were  never  able  to  make  any  considerable  stand.  The 
spell  of  their  supremacy  was  broken ;  their  own  confidence  deserted 
them ;  and  the  population,  in  all  sections  of  the  state,  deeming  the 
royal  cause  ruined,  openly  joined  the  Americans.  After  the  battle, 
the  English  retired  to  the  vicinity  of  Charleston,  and  for  the  rest  of 
the  war  confined  themselves  to  their  strong  posts.  Less  than  two 
years  had  passed  since  Clinton  vauntingly  wrote  home  that  the 
Carolinas  were  permanently  annexed  to  the  crown;  and  in  that 
time  the  genius  of  a  single  man,  aided  by  the  exertions  of  a  portion 
of  the  inhabitants,  had  redeemed  the  conquered  state.  The  admira- 
ble conduct  of  Greene,  throughout  the  whole  of  this  contest,  earns 
for  him  in  history  the  first  rank  after  Washington  as  a  military 
commander.  Equal  to  every  emergency,  whether  of  disaster  or 
success,  he  never  lost  the  even  balance  of  his  mind ;  and  by  his  un- 
dismayed front  supported  the  hopes,  and  re-kindled  the  confidence 
of  the  desolated  south.  Beginning  his  career  with  but  the  wreck  of 
an  army,  he  closed  at  the  head  of  a  body  of  the  best  disciplined 
troops  in  America.  His  forces,  in  this  period  of  time  frequently  fluc- 
tuated from  a  General  of  Division's  command  to  that  of  a  Colonel's ; 
yet  he  never  could  be  entrapped  at  odds  by  his  foe.  Though  often 
repulsed,  he  was  never  ruinously  defeated  ;  and  even  his  checks  he 
managed  to  transmute  into  virtual  victories,  by  the  alembic  of  his 
genius.  Whether  he  retreated  or  advanced,  he  was  in  the  end  the 
winner. 


cxrrcaE  OF  THE  GENERAL  MOSK  BY  THE  HYDEB  ALO.Y. 


BOOK  V, 


TO  THE  CLOSE  OF  THE  CONTEST. 


HE  fourth  act  of  the  revolutionary 
drama  had  now  closed,  and,  like  all 
the  preceding  ones,  though  opening  so 
promisingly  for  England,  had  ended  in 


H  defeat  and  gloom.  The  battle  of  Tren- 
ton had  first  checked  the  career  of  her 
arms,  when  apparently  in  the  full  tide 
of  irresistible  conquest.  The  capture 
of  Burgoyne  had  next  followed,  rendering  abortive  her  designs  on 
the  eastern  states.  The  battle  of  Monmouth,  in  the  succeeding  year, 

141 


142  THE  WAR  OF  INDEPENDENCE. 

had  taught  Clinton  that,  in  the  north,  he  must  confine  his  acquisi- 
tions to  the  territory  immediately  around  the  city  of  New  York. 
The  expedition  against  the  south,  the  last  resort  of  the  ministry,  had 
also  failed.  It  now  remained  but  for  the  proud  army  of  Cornwallis 
to  be  annihilated,  to  convince  all,  even  the  most  obstinate,  that  the 
conquest  of  America  was  a  hopeless  task.  Already  this  event  cast 
its  weird  shadow  ahead.  But,  before  we  enter  on  the  story  of  that 
transaction,  so  glorious  for  the  Americans,  and  so  decisive  in  termi- 
nating the  war  that  it  may  be  regarded  as  the  final  catastrophe  of 
the  drama,  it  is  necessary  to  go  back  a  period  in  our  history,  and 
resuming  the  course  of  events  in  the  north,  bring  them  down  to  the 
present  time,  in  order  that  the  stream  of  narrative  hereafter  may 
flow  clear  and  unchecked. 

For  two  years  subsequent  to  the  battle  of  Monmouth,  the  military 
operations  in  the  north  were  comparatively  tame  and  unproductive. 
In  part,  this  was  the  result  of  the  want  of  troops,  money  and  provi- 
sions on  the  American  side,  the  causes  for  which  we  shall  explain 
more  at  length  during  the  course  of  this  chapter.  But  in  part  also 
it  was  owing  to  a  general  disposition  to  await  the  course  of  events 
in  the  south.  The  rival  armies,  in  fact,  during  these  two  years,  may 
be  said  to  have  stood  at  gaze,  like  opposite  factions  in  an  amphithe- 
atre, watching  the  result  of  a  combat  between  two  formidable 
champions  on  the  stage.  As  one  side  triumphed  its  friends  took 
new  hope :  as  success  crowned  the  other  they  desponded.  For  a 
portion  of  this  period,  moreover,  Sir  Henry  Clinton  was  actively 
engaged  in  person  in  the  south,  and  those  he  left  in  command  at 
New  York  thought  the  number  of  their  troops  insufficient  for  offen- 
sive operations.  For  most  of  this  time,  therefore,  the  war  was  but  a 
war  of  skirmishes.  It  is  owing  to  this  that  we  can  consider  the 
action  of  the  revolutionary  struggle  as  forming  a  complete  dramatic 
whole,  of  which  each  period  naturally  grows  out  of  the  preceding, 
the  story  advancing  with  accelerated  interest  and  increasing  in  im- 
portance until  the  climax  is  reached  in  the  capture  of  Cornwallis. 

The  stand  taken  by  France  in  favor  of  the  colonies  resulted 
eventually,  as  the  English  Cabinet  had  feared,  in  drawing  Spain  and 
Holland  into  the  contest  against  Great  Britain.  All  these  powers 
consulted  rather  their  own  passions  and  interests  than  those  of 
America  in  thus  embarking  in  her  cause ;  and  more  than  once  it  was 
to  be  feared  that  they  would,  on  gaining  their  ends,  desert  her  and 
retire  from  the  conflict.  For  the  first  two  years  of  the  alliance, 
France  occupied  herself  in  contending  with  England  for  supremacy 
in  the  West  Indies  and  on  the  European  seas,  the  abortive  expedi- 


NAVAL  BATTLES. 


143 


tion  of  d'Estaing  being  the  only  one  she  sent  to  the  aid  of  her 
republican  ally.  It  is  foreign  to  our  present  purpose  to  narrate  the 
different  encounters  between  the  English  and  French  fleets,  or  to 
describe  the  siege  of  Gibraltar,  these  being  events  more  properly 
belonging  to  European  history.  The  rise  and  history  of  the  armed 
neutrality  we  shall,  in  liks  manner,  pass  over. 


COMMODORE  JOHN   PAUL   JONES 


A  subject  more  germain  to  our  theme  is  the  story  of  our  own 
naval  successes  during  most  of  the  war.  From  the  first  collision 
between  the  colonies  and  mother  country,  innumerable  privateers 
had  swarmed  the  ocean ;  the  damage  done  to  British  commerce  by 
which  has  been  computed  at  a  hundred  millions.  One  of  the  first 
acts  of  Congress  had  been  to  establish  a  few  national  armed  ships. 
This  force,  though  small,  had  proved  very  efficient,  and  lost  nothing 
in  comparison  even  with  the  vaunted  English  navy.  The  various  en- 
counters between  the  American  and  British  vessels  would  be  too 
numerous  to  mention  in  detail.  A  few  will  suffice  to  show  the  spirit 
with  which  the  strife  was  carried  on  at  sea.  On  the  7th  of  March, 
1778,  Captain  Biddle,  in  a  thirty-six  gun  frigate,  accompanied  by  four 
smaller  armed  ships,  fell  in  with  a  royal  man-of-wai  of  sixty-four 
guns  and  engaged  her.  The  other  American  vessels  could  not  come 


144  THE  WAR  OP  INDEPENDENCE. 

into  action,  and  hence  Captain  Biddle's  flag  ship  had  to  bear  the 
brunt  of  the  fight.  Nobly  did  she  maintain  her  part.  Firing  three 
broadsides  where  her  adversary  did  one,  she  showed  no  signs  of 
succumbing,  when,  about  twenty  minutes  after  the  battle  began,  she 
suddenly  blew  up.  Only  four  of  her  crew  were  saved,  and  these 
could  never  explain  the  cause  of  the  disaster.  Her  gallant  and  chiv- 
alrous commander  perished  in  her ;  but  the  country,  even  after  the 
lapse  of  seventy  years,  has  not  ceased  to  regret  his  fate.  Another 
naval  conflict,  even  more  remarkable,  was  fought  on  the  22nd  of 
September,  1779,  between  the  Bon  Homme  Richard  and  the  Sera- 
pis.  In  this  conflict,  Paul  Jones,  in  command  of  the  former  ship, 
after  two  hours  hard  fighting,  during  which  his  own  vessel  was 
reduced  to  a  sinking  condition,  forced  his  antagonist,  though  superior 
in  weight  of  metal,  to  surrender.  This  action  occurred  in  sight  of 
the  English  coast,  and  is  universally  regarded,  on  account  of  the 
obstinacy  with  which  it  was  fought,  as  one  of  the  most  memorable 
in  history.  Another  celebrated  action  was  the  one  between  the  Hy- 
der  Ali  and  General  Monk  in  Delaware  Bay,  April  the  8th,  1782. 
The  Monk  had  been  ravaging  the  commerce  of  the  bay  for  some 
time,  when  Lieutenant  Barney  in  the  Hyder  Ali,  left  Philadelphia 
to  chastise  the  insolent  foe.  The  Monk  struck,  with  a  loss  of  twenty 
killed  and  thirty-six  wounded.  The  Hyder  Ali  had  four  killed  and 
eleven  wounded.  The  naval  successes  of  America  filled  Europeans 
with  astonishment ;  accustomed  to  see  English  ships  nearly  always  tri- 
umph over  those  of  equal  force  belonging  to  other  nations,  they 
could  not  understand  why  a  handful  of  nide  colonists,  settled  at  the 
other  end  of  the  world,  should  suddenly  attain  such  a  superiority  at 
sea.  But  they  did  not  examine  the  subject,  or  their  wonder  would 
have  ceased.  The  American  mercantile  marine  had  long  nourished 
a  hardy,  brave  and  daring  set  of  seamen,  who,  on  finding  their 
peaceful  vocation  destroyed  by  the  war,  naturally  crowded  the  pri- 
vateers and  national  armed  ships  as  their  only  remaining  source  of 
livelihood.  Other  and  richer  nations  might  build  ships,  but  they 
were  sure  to  want  men  afterwards :  the  Americans  had  the  men,  and 
only  required  the  ships.  In  this  single  fact  lies  the  whole  secret  of 
our  naval  superiority  then  and  since. 

The  alliance  with  France  had  as  yet  not  only  proved  of  little  ser- 
vice to  America,  but  on  the  contrary,  in  one  respect  at  least,  had 
injured  her  prospects.  We  allude  to  the  fatal  indifference  towards 
the  carrying  on  the  war  which  pervaded  the  country  as  soon  as  the 
alliance  became  known.  Regarding  victory  as  now  certain  in  the 
end,  the  citizens  began  to  intermit  their  exertions  and  sacrifices ;  and 
it  was  no  common  occurrence  even  to  hear  leading  patriots  3ay  that 


MUTINY    IN    THE    AMERICAN    CAMP.  145 

France  hereafter  would  bear  the  whole  burden  of  the  war.  Added 
to  this  the  continental  money  continued  depreciating.  The  army 
thought  itself  neglected  by  Congress,  and  indeed  was ;  but  Congress 
was  less  to  blame  than  the  states,  to  whom  it  appealed  in  vain.  The 
enthusiasm  which  had  distinguished  the  first  years  of  the  contest 
had  entirely  disappeared ;  and  all  classes,  with  the  exception  of  a 
few  leading  men  in  each,  were  become  mercenary,  selfish  and  even 
criminally  indifferent.  Hence  it  was  that  during  the  whole  of  the 
years  1779  and  1780,  Washington  was  unable  to  undertake  any 
enterprise  of  importance  ;  for  with  an  army  decreasing  continually 
by  the  expiration  of  enlistments,  and  impossible  to  be  recruited  to 
any  extent,  in  consequence  of  the  apathy  of  the  public  mind,  it 
would  have  been  madness  to  have  engaged  in  a  war  of  offence. 
The  American  General,  therefore,  contented  himself  with  maintain- 
ing his  lines  on  the  Hudson,  West  Point  being  the  key  to  his  posi- 
tion. He  often  experienced  the  greatest  difficulty  in  victualling 
his  troops,  but  his  skill  and  perseverance  finally  overcame  every 
obstacle.  The  manner  in  which  he  triumphed  in  this  emergency, 
and  held  his  army  together,  is,  perhaps,  a  higher  proof  of  his  ability 
than  gaining  a  pitched  battle  would  have  been,  in  the  ordinary 
course  of  European  warfare. 

'  The  winter  of  1 779-80,  was  particularly  severe.  The  pay  of  an  offi- 
cer was  now  scarcely  sufficient  to  buy  him  a  pair  of  shoes  :  that  of  a 
private  had  depreciated,  of  course,  in  an  equal  ratio.  Few  persons  were 
willing  to  make  contracts  to  the  government  for  supplies  of  any  kind ; 
and  of  the  few  entered  into,  by  far  the  larger  portion  was  unfulfilled. 
At  length  a  mutiny  broke  out  among  the  Connecticut  troops:  two  regi- 
ments paraded  under  arms,  declaring  their  fixed  resolution  to  return 
home,  or  procure  food  by  force.  The  intelligence  of  these  disorders 
reaching  New  York,  Knyphausen,  who  commanded  there  during 
Clinton's  absence  in  the  south,  caused  a  number  of  printed  declara- 
tions to  be  circulated  in  the  American  Camp,  inviting  the  disaffected 
to  join  the  royal  standard.  But  though  justly  exasperated  against 
their  country  for  her  neglect,  the  mutineers  were  not  prepared  to 
betray  her,  or  desert  the  principles  they  had  sworn  to  assert.  Not 
a  man,  it  is  believed,  went  over  to  the  enemy  in  consequence  of  this 
invitation.  The  mutiny  itself  was  finally  quelled  by  the  exhortations 
of  the  officers.  In  the  meantime,  however,  Knyphausen,  not  to  lose 
what  he  thought  so  favorable  a  chance,  had  made  a  descent  into 
New  Jersey,  with  five  thousand  men  :  but  instead  of  being  joined, 
as  he  had  expected,  by  a  large  number  of  malcontents,  he  found  the 
soldiers  marching  with  zeal  to  oppose  him,  and  the  inhabitants 

l.Q  N 


146  THE  WAR  OF    INDEPENDENCE. 

taking  arms  on  all  sides.  He  soon  found  it  advisable  to  retreat  to 
Elizabethtown  Point,  opposite  Staten  Island.  While  he  was  at  this 
place,  Clinton  returned  from  his  victorious  career  at  the  south,  and 
immediately  despatched  a  reinforcement  to  Knyphausen,  who  now 
advanced  to  Springfield.  Here  a  sharp  skirmish  occurred  between 
him  and  an  inferior  body  of  Americans,  under  General  Greene.  The 
latter  were  repulsed,  on  which  Knyphausen  burned  the  town.  But 
the  resistance  he  had  met,  convincing  him  that  the  hopes  he  had 
formed  were  illusive,  he  retired  the  next  day  for  New  York.  The 
error  into  which  he  fell  on  the  occasion  of  this  mutiny,  had  been  a 
common  one  with  the  royal  Generals  during  the  war,  who  persisted 
in  judging  of  America  as  they  would  of  Europe:  and  hence  were 
continually  expecting  that  the  depreciation  of  the  currency,  the 
increasing  discontent  among  the  army,  and  the  inevitable  subsidence 
of  the  popular  enthusiasm,  would  give  them  eventually  an  easy 
conquest. 

The  intelligence  of  the  fall  of  Charleston,  which  reached  the  north 
before  the  end  of  May,  spread  gloom  and  terror  through  camp  and 
Congress.  Fortunately,  however,  an  event  soon  occurred  which 
partially  restored  confidence.  This  was  the  return  of  the  Marquis 
La  Fayette  from  France,  with  the  intelligence  that  a  French  land 
and  naval  force  was  on  its  way  to  America.  Accordingly,  in  July, 
a  fleet  of  ten  armed  ships  accompanied  by  thirty -six  transports,  and 
six  thousand  soldiers,  arrived  at  Rhode  Island.  They  brought  infor- 
mation that  a  second  fleet,  with  more  troops,  was  expected  soon  to 
sail  from  the  harbor  of  Brest.  The  fleet  was  commanded  by  the 
Chevalier  de  Terney :  the  army  by  the  Count  de  Rochambeau.  A 
general  enthusiasm  succeeded  their  arrival,  and  a  vigorous  campaign 
against  the  British  posts  was  projected.  To  compliment  the  French, 
Washington  recommended  to  his  officers  to  place  a  white  relief  on 
the  American  cockade.  In  the  midst  of  these  sanguine  hopes,  how- 
ever, the  news  arrived,  that  the  transports,  with  the  second  portion 
of  the  French  army,  was  blockaded  in  Brest :  and  in  an  instant  all 
the  visions  of  a  brilliant  campaign  vanished,  the  forces  of  Rocham- 
beau and  Washington  being  too  small  to  begin  offensive  operations 
with  any  prospect  of  success.  In  the  meantime,  however,  the 
American  General  lost  no  opportunity  of  propitiating  his  allies. 
Conferences  were  also  held  as  to  the  best  plan  of  conducting  the 
war.  Washington  had  met  Terney  and  Rochambeau  at  Hartford, 
in  Connecticut,  for  this  purpose,  on  the  21st  of  September,  1780, 
when,  during  his  absence,  a  conspiracy  for  betraying  West  Point  to 
the  enemy  was  discovered,  and  fortunately  frustrated.  The  plot 


TREASON    OF    ARNOLD.  147 

came  so  near  success,  however,  that  its  failure  almost  appears  the 
result  of  a  direct  interposition  of  Providence. 

West  Point  was  the  key  to  the  Highlands,  and  considered  impreg- 
nable. It  guarded  the  communication  between  the  eastern  and 
middle  states,  and  hence,  as  well  as»on  account  of  its  convenience  as 
a  central  depot,  had  been  chosen  as  the  depository  of  immense  stores. 
Its  possession,  in  more  than  one  respect,  therefore,  would  be  advan- 
tageous to  the  British  :  and  might  even  be  the  cause  of  total  ruin 
to  the  American  arms.  The  traitor  who  proposed  to  surrender  it 
to  Clinton,  was  the  same  Arnold,  of  whose  headlong  bravery  at 
Quebec  and  Saratoga  we  have  already  spoken.  This  General  had, 
like  many  others,  scarcely  received  his  deserts  from  Congress ;  but 
instead  of  emulating  the  patriotism  of  Schuyler,  he  resolved  on  a 
plan  of  revenge.  Accordingly,  a  year  before,  and  while  in  com- 
mand of  Philadelphia,  he  had  opened,  under  an  assumed  name,  a 
correspondence  with  Clinton.  In  Philadelphia,  he  married  a  Miss 
Shippen,  a  young,  gay,  and  beautiful  woman,  of  habits  even  more 
extravagant  than  his  own,  and  of  political  principles  directly  opposed 
to  those  which  the  wife  of  an  American  Major  General  would  be 
presumed  to  possess.  Indulging  in  an  expensive  style  of  living,  he 
soon  began  to  want  means  :  to  obtain  these,  he  engaged  in  priva- 
teering, which  proved  unsuccessful.  At  last,  harassed  by  his 
debts,  he  resorted  to  fraud  and  peculation,  to  conceal  which  he 
exhibited  false  accounts  against  the  government.  The  result  was, 
a  refusal  to  allow  his  demands.  This  excited  him  to  some  very 
reprehensible  acts  and  words  against  the  public  and  Congress. 
These  produced  a  court-martial  on  charges  preferred  by  the  Gover- 
nor of  Pennsylvania.  By  this  body  he  was  sentenced  to  be 
reprimanded  by  the  Commander-in-chief,  and  the  sentence  was  car- 
ried into  execution. 

The  proud  soul  of  Arnold  burned  at  this  indignity,  and  he  resolved 
on  a  signal  vengeance  ;  but,  concealing  his  base  designs,  he  applied 
for  the  command  of  West  Point.  After  some  solicitation  Washing- 
ton, who  had  always  considered  him  an  efficient  officer,  yielded  to 
his  request.  Arnold  now  immediately  resumed  his  correspondence 
with  Clinton,  and  proceeded  so  vigorously  in  his  treasonable  pur- 
poses, that  a  price  was  soon  agreed  on  between  him  and  the  British 
General  for  the  surrender  of  the  post.  The  absence  of  Washington, 
at  Hartford,  was  chosen  as  a  suitable  time  for  the  infamous  act.  It 
being  necessary,  however,  to  arrange  some  preliminaries,  Major 
Andre,  Adjutant  General  of  the  British  army,  a  young,  amiable  and 
accomplished  officer,  was  despatched  by  Clinton  to  hold  a  private 


148 


THE  WAR  OP  INDEPENDENCE. 


interview  with  Arnold,  without  the  American  lines.  Andre  ascended 
the  Hudson  in  the  Vulture  sloop  of  war,  and  the  parties  met,  at  the 
house  of  a  Mr.  Smith,  on  the  21st  of  September,  1780,  but  daybreak 
surprising  them,  in  the  midst  of  their  conversation,  it  became  neces- 
sary for  Andre  to  remain  until  the  evening ;  and  during  the  interval 
he  was  concealed,  of  necessity,  within  the  American  lines.  At  night 
the  boatman  who  had  brought  him  off,  refused  to  carry  him  back  to 
the  Vulture,  that  vessel  having  dropped  down  the  river  during  the 


CAPTCRK    OF  MAJOH   AJTORK. 


preceding  day,  to  avoid  an  American  battery  on  shore.  Andje  now 
attempted  to  make  his  way  to  New  York  by  land,  to  facilitate  which 
purpose,  Arnold  furnished  him  with  a  pass,  under  the  assumed 
name  of  John  Anderson.  Andre  passed  the  American  lines  in  safety, 
but  was  stopped  on  the  second  day  of  his  journey,  almost  within 
sight  of  the  British  posts,  by  three  militia  men.  It  is  probable  that 
ordinary  tact  would  have  sufficed  to  quiet  their  suspicions,  and  pre- 
vent further  molestation ;  but,  losing  his  presence  of  mind,  he  suf- 
fered himself  to  reveal  his  rank  and  nation,  before  learning  that  of 
his  interrogators ;  and  then,  on  discovering  his  mistake,  he  offered 
such  extravagant  remuneration  for  his  release,  that  the  suspicions 
of  his  captors  were  still  more  fullv  excited.  On  searching  Andre's 
person,  his  papers  were  found  in  his  boot.  These  were  in  Arnold's 
hand  writing,  and  contained  a  description  of  the  defences  at  West 


DEATH    OF    MAJOR    ANDRE.  149 

Point,  with  an  estimate  of  the  number  of  men  required  to  man  them. 
On  detecting  these  documents,  the  militia  men  conducted  him  to 
Colonel  Jameson,  their  commandant,  the  superior  officer  of  all  the 
scouting  parties  of  militia  employed  on  the  lines.  Here  Andre  asked 
leave  to  write  a  note  to  Arnold,  in  which,  under  his  assumed  name 
of  Anderson,  he  informed  the  traitor  of  his  own  arrest ;  intelligence 
so  timely  to  Arnold,  that,  on  receiving  it,  he  called  his  barge,  and 
rowed  at  once  to  the  Vulture.  Having  despatched  this  note  to  his 
confederate,  Andre  wrote  and  forwarded  a  letter  to  Washington. 
He  signed  this  with  his  real  name,  enclosing  the  papers  captured  on 
his  person,  and  endeavoring  to  prove  that  he  had  not  come  as  a  spy 
within  the  American  lines.  Meantime  Washington,  little  suspecting 
this  foul  treason,  had  returned  from  Hartford  and  crossed  to  West 
Point.  Not  finding  Arnold  there,  he  re-crossed  to  head-quarters, 
and  here  received  Andre's  letter.  The  cause  of  Arnold's  disappear- 
ance was  now  explained.  But  forty -eight  hours  had  elapsed  since 
the  arrest  of  Andre,  and  it  was  now  too  late  to  overtake  the  traitor, 
who,  by  this  time,  was  on  his  way,  safely  in  the  Vulture,  to  New 
York. 

At  first  Washington  was  confounded  by  the  intelligence  of  Ar- 
nold's treason,  not  knowing  to  what  extent  its  ramifications  spread. 
A  board  of  officers  was  immediately  appointed  to  try  Andre  as 
a  spy.  Among  the  members  of  this  board  were  Steuben  and  La 
Fayette,  both  chosen  because  foreigners,  to  give  a  greater  apparent 
impartiality  abroad  to  the  decision  of  the  court.  Andre  was  found 
guilty  on  his  own  confession,  disdaining,  like  a  gallant  soldier,  to 
make  use  of  any  quibble.  The  judges  compassionated  the  unfortu- 
nate young  man,  and  shed  tears  while  they  awarded  the  doom 
required  by  the  laws  of  war.  He  was  sentenced  to  be  hung  as  a 
spy.  Clinton,  who  loved  Andre  almost  as  a  brother,  made  the  most 
strenuous  exertions  to  save  his  friend's  life :  he  wrote  to  Washing- 
ton ;  he  solicited  a  conference ;  he  threatened  retaliations  of  the  most 
wholesale  character  in  Carolina.  But  all  was  in  vain.  The  unhappy 
victim  was  told  to  prepare  for  his  death.  In  this  awful  crisis,  he 
deported  himself  with  the  courage  of  a  soldier,  and  reproved  his 
servant  for  the  emotion  he  betrayed.  His  only  request  was  that  he 
might  be  shot.  To  this  Washington  could  not  consent,  consistently 
with  his  duty  to  his  country  :  and,  out  of  delicacy,  declined  to  answer 
the  request :  though  he  wept  at  his  inability  to  spare  Andre  this 
ignominious  pain.  On  beholding  the  terrible  machinery  provided 
for  his  execution,  the  hapless  young  man,  who  had  indulged  a  hope 
that  his  petition  would  be  granted,  shrank  back,  and  exclaimed, 

N* 


150  THE   WAR  OF  INDEPENDENCE. 

"  must  I  die  in  this  manner  ?"  But  immediately  recovering  himself, 
he  added,  "  it  will  be  but  a  momentary  pang,"  and  marched  firmly 
forwards.  Just  before  he  suffered,  he  requested  all  to  witness  that 
he  died  like  a  brave  man,  and  then,  stepping  lightly  into  the  cart, 
endured  his  sentence,  amid  the  tears  and  sobs  of  the  spectators. 
Friend  and  foe  have  since  united  to  deplore  his  untimely,  though 
necessary  fate.  Yet,  by  a  strange  fallacy,  the  similar  catastrophe 
that  befel  Captain  Hale,  of  the  American  army,  has  been  almost 
overlooked,  and  the  sympathy  that  should  have  been  divided  among 
both,  been  exhausted  on  Andre.  The  one  sleeps  in  a  humble  grave, 
almost  forgotten  by  his  countrymen ;  the  other  long  since  was  disin- 
terred and  placed  with  martial  pomp  in  the  sacred  glooin  of  West- 
minster Abbey. 

The  subsequent  career  of  Arnold  forms  an  appropriate  conclusion 
to  this  melancholy  tale.  He  received  the  wages  of  his  treason,  and 
was  given  a  command  in  the  British  army ;  but  honorable  men 
shrank  from  his  society,  and  wherever  he  went  he  was  regarded  as 
the  murderer  of  Andre.  He  had  the  assurance  to  appear  at- court, 
but  was  insulted  in  the  very  presence  of  the  King.  At  last  he  threw 
up  his  commission  in  disgust,  and  coming  to  Nova  Scotia,  resumed 
his  old  profession  of  a  merchant.  He  died  universally  execrated,  as 
well  by  the  nation  he  had  served,  as  by  the  one  he  had  betrayed. 

In  October,  1 780,  Clinton  despatched  three  thousand  troops  under 
General  Leslie,  to  Virginia,  where  he  was  ordered  to  co-operate 
with  Cornwallis,  who  was  expected  there  by  this  period.  He 
remained  in  Virginia  but  a  short  time,  having  received  orders  from 
Cornwallis  to  join  him  at  Charleston.  Here  he  arrived  in  time  to 
unite  with  that  officer  in  the  pursuit  of  Greene  through  North  Caro- 
lina, as  we  have  before  narrated.  In  the  meantime,  and  while  Greene 
was  engaged  in  his  masterly  retreat,  the  American  army  at  the  north 
lay  at  Morristown,  enduring  all  the  rigors  of  the  season,  ill-fed  and 
scantily  clothed.  Though  there  had  been  a  plentiful  harvest,  the 
want  of  money  in  camp,  rendered  it  almost  impossible  for  Washing- 
ton to  supply  the  soldiers  with  food  :  and  recourse  was  had  again  to 
forced  contributions.  At  this  crisis,  a  mutiny  broke  out  in  the 
Pennsylvania  line,  the  soldiers  of  which  declared  that  they  were 
retained  after  their  terms  of  enlistment  expired.  Thirteen  hundred 
of  these  men  paraded  under  arms,  on  the  night  of  the  1st  of  Janu- 
ary, 1781,  and  declared  their  intention  to  march  on  Philadelphia, 
and  demand  justice  from  Congress,  at  the  point  of  the  bayonet. 
Their  officers  attempted  to  quell  the  insubordination,  but  failed  :  and 
in  the  effort,  one  officer  was  killed  and  several  wounded.  As  Gene 


CONTINENTAL    MONEY.  151 

ral  Wayne  possessed  great  popularity  among  the  mutineers,  he  was 
sent  by  Washington  to  exhort  them  to  return  to  duty.  But  he,  too, 
was  unsuccessful.  He  even  threatened  to  shoot  the  ringleaders,  but 
they  earnestly  besought  him  not  to  force  them  to  harm  him : 
solemnly  declaring  their  resolution  to  be  unalterable  to  have  their 
wrongs  redresssed.  They  selected  temporary  officers,  accordingly, 
and  marched  to  Princeton,  on  their  way  to  .the  capital.  But  here 
they  were  met  by  a  deputation  from  Congress,  who  finally  effected 
a  compromise  with  them.  Much  as  we  may  deplore  the  mutiny 
of  these  men,  we  cannot  but  own  that,  like  the  mutineers  of  the 
Connecticut  line,  the  year  before,  they  had  great  cause  for  complaint. 
Nor  were  they  less  firm  than  the  former  mutineers  in  their  patriot- 
ism, for  when  Clinton,  hearing  of  their  revolt,  sent  e'missaries  to 
seduce  them  to  his  ranks,  they  delivered  the  spies  to  Wayne  to  be 
hung.  They  appear  to  have  been  goaded  by  the  neglect  and  injus- 
tice of  Congress  to  turn  their  arms  against  that  body ;  but  never  to 
have  swerved  in  their  devotion  to  the  country.  Their  misguided 
conduct,  however,  might  have  led  to  the  total  ruin  of  the  cause  of 
independence.  The  nation  felt  this,  and  when,  shortly  after,  a  part 
of  the  Jersey  line,  infected  by  their  pernicious  example,  broke  out 
into  revolt,  stringent  measures  were  adopted,  and  the  mutiny  being 
put  down,  the  ringleaders  were  executed. 

As  these  disturbances  were  owing  chiefly  to  the  neglect  of  pay, 
this  is  the  proper  place  to  enter  on  the  subject  of  the  continental 
money,  the  depreciation  of  which  had  led  to  the  inability  of  the 
federal  government  to  liquidate  its  obligations  to  the  army.  Years 
had  now  passed  "since  many  of  the  soldiers  had  received  a  cent  from 
Congress,  and  those  who  were  paid,  obtained  their  dues  only  in  a 
depreciated  currency.  The  financial  condition  of  the  country  had 
been  indeed  on  the  verge  of  ruin  for  more  than  two  campaigns. 
The  cause  for  this  was,  that  Congress  had  never  provided  any  real 
fund  for  the  expenses  of  the  war.  At  the  beginning  of  the  contest, 
some  of  the  bolder  spirits  had  proposed  raising  a  revenue  by  taxa- 
tion ;  but  as  this  was  the  very  difficulty  about  which  the  colonists 
were  quarrelling  with  Great  Britain,  it  was  thought  wisest  to  waive 
this  subject  for  the  present.  A  loan  was  the  next  available  resource  : 
but  who  would  lend  to  revolted  colonies  ?  As  a  last  resort,  Congress 
issued  bills  of  credit,  for  the  payment  of  which,  the  faith  of  the  con- 
federated states  was  pledged.  The  first  emission  was  to  the  amount 
of  two  millions,  and  took  place  in  June,  1775:  this  was  followed, 
in  the  succeeding  month,  by  the  issue  of  another  million.  At  this 
period  of  the  war,  it  was  generally  supposed  that  an  accommodation 


152 


THE   WAR  OF  INDEPENDENCE. 


Six 

HIS  Bill  entitles  th 
=  Bearer  to  receive 
SIX  SPANISH  MULED 
DOLLARS,  or  the 
inffOLD 
Or  SILVER-iceordiiirf  to 
a  Resolution  of  COM 
CRESS  wUMtt  Phi- 
ladelphia Nev-3,-l7fG- 


CONTINENTAL   MONET. 


would  speedily  be  arranged,  and  accordingly  the  bills  circulated  at 
par,  and  were  readily  taken.  But  when,  in  consequence  of  the  con- 
tract entered  into  by  England  with  Germany,  to  procure  foreign 
mercenaries,  it  was  thought  necessary  by  Congress  to  extend  the 
plan  of  defence,  more  and  more  bills  were  emitted,  the  issue  extend- 
ing through  the  months  of  February,  May,  and  July,  1 776.  By  the 
close  of  this  year  there  were  twenty  millions  in  circulation.  Up  to  this 
period,  the  bills  had  suffered  no  depreciation,  but  the  successes  of  the 
British  began  to  alarm  prudent  traders,  as  well  as  large  capitalists, 
and  though  the  victory  at  Trenton  re-animated  the  hopes  of  the 
patriots,  yet  it  did  not  preserve  the  credit  of  the  paper  currency.  A 
long  war  was  seen  to  be  inevitable,  and  in  consequence,  the  bills  fell. 
The  depreciation  at  first  was  gradual,  but  as  the  contest  grew  pro- 
tracted, and  more  bills  were  thrown  on  the  market,  the  depreciation 
progressed  at  an  alarming  ratio.  This  depreciation  began  at  differ- 
ent periods  in  different  states,  and  extended  not  only  to  the  conti- 
nental paper,  but  to  the  bills  of  a  like  character  issued  by  the 
different  states*  The  decline  commenced  early  in  the  year  1777  ; 
and  before  the  close  of  the  year  had  reached  two  or  three  for  one. 
In  1778,  the  depreciation  rose  to  five  or  six  for  one  :  in  1779,  twenty- 
seven  or  twenty-eight  for  one :  in  the  early  part  of  1780,  fifty  or 
sixty  for  one,  and  towards  its  close,  one  hundred  and  fifty  for  one. 


VARIOUS  PLANS  FOR  RAISING  A  REVENUE.  1,53 

By  this  time  many  would  not  take  the  paper  on  any  terms.  In  1781, 
the  depreciation  reached  several  hundreds  for  one,  and  the  circula- 
tion, even  at  this  rate,  was  so  partial  that,  from  this  period,  the  bills 
may  be  said  to  have  disappeared  from  active  use. 

A  terrible  crisis  had  now  come  in  the  financial  affairs  of  the 
country.  In  the  neighborhood  of  the  American  army  there  was  no 
circulating  medium  of  either  paper  or  money,  a  real  want  of  neces- 
saries ensued,  and  in  consequence,  as  we  have  seen,  the  Connecticut, 
and  subsequently,  the  Pennsylvania  troops,  broke  out  into  mutiny. 
Congress  did  not  know  what  remedy  to  apply  for  this  evil.  A 
legislative  body  may  make  paper  loans,  but  cannot  create  a  currency 
without  credit.  There  was  little  gold  or  silver  in  the  country,  and 
what  there  was,  private  citizens  hoarded.  In  vain  various  expedients 
were  resorted  to  in  order  to  establish  a  currency,  and  to  check  the 
accelerated  depreciation  of  the  continental  bills.  Unjust  and  absurd 
laws  had  been  recommended  to  the  states  by  Congress,  for  regulating 
the  prices  of  labor,  manufactures,  and  all  sorts  of  commodities :  for 
confiscating  and  selling  the  estates  of  tories :  and  for  making  legal 
money  a  tender  in  payment  of  debts.  All  these  laws  were,  of 
course,  found  to  be  impracticable.  Manufacturers  ceased  to  work, 
when  they  found  that  the  depreciation  of  the  currency,  to  which  the 
law  affixed  a  nominal  value,  far  above  its  real  one,  no  longer  re- 
munerated them.  The  large  number  of  tory  estates  thrown  on 
the  market  necessarily  lessened  their  value.  And  the  law  which 
made  the  paper  money  a  legal  tender,  was  found  in  practice  only  to 
enable  a  dishonest  debtor  to  pay  his  creditor  a  pound,  which  was 
not  really  worth  a  pound  ;  while  it  reduced  to  beggary  all  that  large 
class  of  annuitants,  such  as  widows,  orphans,  and  aged  persons,  who 
had  money  out  at  interest  and  who  received  only  worthless  paper 
instead  of  their  just  dues. 

Fortunately  for  the  country  a  very  beneficial  trade  sprung  up  in 
the  year  1780,  with  the  French  and  Spanish  West  India  islands, 
which  continued  through  the  war,  and  was  the  means  of  introducing 
much  gold  and  silver  into  the  states.  The  French  army  at  New- 
port also  disbursed  large  sums  in  specie.  But  these  resources 
were  still  inadequate  to  the  wants  of  the  community.  The  army 
especially  suffered.  Taxation  was  resorted  to  in  order  to  obtain 
relief,  and  the  different  states  were  called  on  for  quotas  of  provisions 
and  forage  ;  but  there  was  a  very  general  prejudice  existing  against 
this  system  of  raising  a  revenue,  and  many  of  the  quotas  were  never 
completely  filled.  Loans  from  private  individuals  were  now  endea- 
vored to  be  negotiated ;  but  Congress  met  with  but  little  success  in 
20 


154 


THE  WAR  OF  INDEPENDENCE. 


KOBERT   MORRIS. 


this  attempt :  the  patriotism  of  the  few  large  capitalists  being  less 
than  their  confidence  in  the  government,  and  the  body  of  the  people 
wanting  means.  A  few,  however}  of  the  wealthy  merchants  came 
forward  to  the  assistance  of  Congress,  and  among  the  most  active  of 
these  was  Robert  Morris,  of  Philadelphia,  who  had  been  placed  at 
the  head  of  the  bank,  established  at  his  suggestion,  the  year  before. 
The  finances  of  the  confederacy  were  given  into  his  control,  and  the 
public  engagements  hereafter  met  in  gold  and  silver.  A  subsidy  of  six 
millions  of  livres  was  obtained  from  the  King  of  France,  and  that 
monarch  became  security  for  ten  millions  more  borrowed  in  the 
Netherlands.  On  the  whole,  the  financial  condition  of  the  country, 
under  the  skilful  measures  now  adopted,  began  to  improve ;  but 
there  was  more  than  one  crisis  yet  before  the  end  of  the  war :  and 
one  of  these  came  so  near  rendering  the  expedition  against  Cornwal 


ACTION    OFF    CAPE    HENRY.  1.55 

lis  abortive,  that  but  for  the  timely  arrival  of  the  specie  remitted 
from  the  court  of  France,  it  is  probable  the  triumphs  of  Yorktown 
would  never  have  been  achieved.  The  British  ministry  had  long 
foreseen  the  approach  of  this  financial  tempest,  and  had  indeed  pro- 
tracted the  contest,  hoping  to  avail  themselves  of  its  aid.  It  appears 
little  short  of  a  direct  interposition  of  Providence  to  behold  the 
country  saved  in  this  extremity.  Bat  to  return  to  the  thread  of  our 
narrative. 

The  beginning  of  the  year  1781,  which  witnessed  Greene's  mas- 
terly retreat  through  North  Carolina,  found  Washington  apparently 
idle  at  his  posts  on  the  Hudson.  But  he  was  secretly  busy  never- 
theless ;  and  was  straining  every  nerve  to  be  able  soon  to  strike  a 
decisive  blow.  Meantime  Clinton,  finding  himself  censured  for  in- 
activity, projected  an  attempt  on  Virginia,  and  as  a  preliminary, 
despatched  Arnold  thither.  That  recreant  General,  in  the  execution 
of  the  task  now  allotted  him,  seemed  desirous  to  add  the  title  of 
bandit  to  that  of  traitor :  and  accordingly  began  to  ravage  the  pro- 
vince with  a  ferocity  unparalleled,  respecting  neither  private  nor 
public  property,  but  plundering  all  alike.  With  twelve  hundred 
men  he  landed  at  Westown,  whence  he  proceeded  to  Richmond, 
where  he  destroyed  immense  quantities  of  rum,  salt,  tobacco,  and 
other  stores:  and  finally  establishing  himself  at  Portsmouth,  he  sent 
out  parties  on  all  sides  to  commit  havoc  and  destruction,  as  the 
foul  dragon  in  the  German  story  reduced,  with  his  breath  alone,  the 
surrounding  districts  to  a  blighted  desert. 

When  Washington  heard  of  this  rapine  he  conceived  the  project 
of  capturing  the  traitor,  and  making  him  expiate  on  the  gallows  his 
offences  against  his  country.  Accordingly  La  Fayette,  who  had 
been  detailed  with  twelve  hundred  men  to  reinforce  Greene,  was 
ordered  to  remain  in  Virginia  and  hem  in  Arnold  from  escape  by 
land;  while,  at  the  same  time,  a  proposition  was  made  to  the  French 
Admiral  at  Newport  to  send  his  fleet  and  a  thousand  land  troops  to 
cut  off  Arnold's  return  by  sea.  Destouches,  however,  had  already 
made  up  his  mind  that  one  line  of  battle  ship  and  two  frigates  would 
be  sufficient  for  the  purpose.  These  accordingly  were  despatched 
on  the  5th  of  February,  but  Arnold  was  so  well  posted  as  to  defy 
attack.  The  squadron  accordingly  returned  to  Newport.  It  was 
now  resolved,  in  a  personal  conference  between  Washington,  Des- 
touches and  Rochambeau,  to  embark  eleven  hundred  French  troops, 
and  escort  them  with  the  whole  fleet.  This  was  accordingly  done 
on  the  8th  of  March.  But  on  the  16th,  the  English  fleet  under  Ar- 
buthnot,  which  had  given  chase,  came  up  with  the  French  off  Cape 


156 


THE   WAR  OP  INDEPENDENCE. 


ACTION    OFF 


Henry :  and,  after  an  hour's  combat,  Destouches  bore  up  and  aban- 
doned the  enterprise,  returning  the  next  day  to  Rhode  Island.  In 
this  mariner  the  traitor  made  his  escape. 

It  was  well  known  to  Clinton  that  the  conquest  of  Virginia  had 
become  a  favorite  measure  with  the  ministry  at  home.  That  rich 
and  populous  province  had  hitherto  suffered  but  little  from  the  war. 
[t  was  intersected  with  large  and  navigable  rivers ;  and  in  other  re- 
spects afforded  facilities  for  fleets.  The  plan  of  the  ministry  was  to 
seize  and  fortify  some  point  on  its  coast,  both  for  the  sake  of  a  con- 
venient depot  for  shipping  and  to  hold  the  province  in  check.  It  was 
determined  if  the  colony  could  not  be  conquered  that  it  should  be 
ravaged.  Clinton  was  well  aware  of  these  views,  and  prepared  to 
second  them.  He  had  in  consequence  already  despatched  first  Leslie, 
and  after  his  removal,  Arnold,  to  Virginia  ;  and  now  he  proceeded  to 
send  General  Phillips,  with  a  force  of  two  thousand  men  to  reinforce 
Arnold.  On  the  26th  of  March  he  arrived  in  the  Chesapeake,  and 
soon  forming  a  junction  with  Arnold,  ravaged  the  country  along  the 
bay,  burning  four  thousand  hogsheads  of  tobacco  in  Petersburg 
alone.  On  the  9th  of  May  the  two  Generals  established  themselves 
at  this  town,  where  shortly  after  General  Phillips  died.  On  the  20tli 
of  the  same  month,  Lord  Cornwallis  arrived  from  Wilmington 
where  we  left  him,  after  the  battle  of  Guildford,  in  order  that  w* 
might  follow  the  fortunes  of  Greene.  Being  here  joined  by  the  forces 


MOVEMENTS    OF    THE    ARMIES    IN    VIRGINIA.  157 

lately  commanded  by  Phillips,  and  a  reinforcement  of  fifteen  hun- 
dred men  just  arrived  from  New  York,  he  was  at  the  head  of  a  very 
imposing  force,  and  deeming  the  province  at  his  mercy,  began  to 
trample  it  under  the  hoofs  of  military  conquest. 

Virginia  indeed  was,  at  this  period,  in  a  pitiable  condition,  from 
which  it  seemed  almost  impossible  to  rescue  her.  The  army  of 
Cornwallis  was  about  five  thousand,  all  disciplined  troops,  many  of 
them  veterans.  To  oppose  these,  La  Fayette  had  scarcely  four 
thousand  men,  of  whom  three-fourths  were  militia.  Besides  these, 
however,  there  were  six  hundred  men  under  Baron  Steuben,  who 
had  been  marching  to  the  aid  of  Greene,  but  had  been  recalled,  and 
were  now  on  the  south  side  of  James  River.  Fortunately,  also, 
Wayne  had  been  despatched  to  reinforce  La  Fayette,  and  it  now 
became  the  object  of  the  latter,  after  having,  by  a  forced  march  on 
Richmond,  saved  the  stores  there,  to  effect  a  junction  with  his 
brother  General.  Meantime  Cornwallis,  who  was  very  effective  in 
cavalry,  having  mounted  his  troops  without  scruple  from  the  stables 
of  the  Virginia  gentlemen,  despatched  two  expeditions,  one  under 
Tarleton,  to  Charlotteville,  the  other  under  Simcoe,  to  Point  of  Fork. 
Tarleton  had  nearly  captured  the  Assembly,  which  was  in  session 
at  the  former  place ;  but  the  members  fortunately  were  warned  in 
time,  and  chiefly  escaped,  only  seven  being  made  prisoners.  He 
destroyed,  however,  a  large  quantity  of  stores.  Simcoe  was  less 
successful,  the  Americans  having  removed  most  of  their  stores  from 
Point  of  Fork.  All  this  time  La  Fayette  had  been  engaged  in 
effecting  his  junction  with  Wayne.  Cornwallis,  desirous  of  securing 
his  opponent's  stores,  which  had  been  removed  from  Richmond  to 
Albemarle  Old  Court-House,  took  post  between  La  Fayette  and 
that  place ;  but  the  Marquis,  by  opening  a  road  which  had  long 
been  disused,  and  was  regarded  by  the  English  as  impassable, 
escaped  from  the  snare.  Cornwallis,  on  the  next  day,  the  18th  of 
June,  fell  back  on  Richmond.  In  a  few  days  Steuben  arrived  to 
reinforce  La  Fayette,  who  had  now  nearly  two  thousand  regulars. 
The  British  General,  astonished  to  find  so  large  a  force  concentrated 
with  such  rapidity  against  him,  and  indeed  believing  the  troops  of 
his  enemy  to  be  more  numerous  than  they  were,  thought  it  prudent 
to  retire  to  Williamsburgh,  whither  the  Marquis  cautiously  followed 
him.  Already  the  proud  British  leader  had  found  "  the  boy,"  as  he 
contemptuously  called  La  Fayette,  almost  his  match. 

As  he  entered  Williamsburgh  the  rear  of  Cornwallis  became 
engaged  with  the  American  van;  but  he  had  no  desire  to  fight  a 
battle,  as  he  had  just  received  orders  from  Clinton  to  send  part  of 

o 


158  THE   WAR  OF  INDEPENDENCE. 

his  troops  to  New  York,  where  his  superior  was  in  daily  expectation 
of  a  combined  attack  on  the  part  of  the  Americans  and  French. 
Accordingly,  on  the  4th  of  July,  Cornwallis  marched  to  a  ford  on 
the  James  River,  and  sent  over  part  of  his  army  to  the  opposite 
banks,  in  what  is  called  the  island  of  Jamestown.  By  the  7th,  the 
wheel  carriages  and  baggage  had  also  crossed.  At  this  crisis,  La 
Fayette,  supposing  that  the  whole  British  army  had  passed  over 
except  the  rear-guard,  determined  to  assault  them.  This  determina- 
tion Cornwallis  had  suspected,  and  indeed  laid  the  snare  for  his 
enemy.  Wayne,  who  had  been  sent  forward  to  begin  the  attack, 
soon  found  himself  opposed  by  overwhelming  numbers ;  but  with 
his  accustomed  courage,  he  advanced,  though  with  only  eight  hun- 
dred men,  to  the  charge.  The  British  stood  amazed  at  this  gallant 
daring.  Fortunately  La  Fayette  had,  in  the  meantime,  perceived 
his  error,  and  sent  a  message  to  Wayne  to  retire,  the  light  infantry 
forming  his  cover  as  he  did  so.  Cornwallis  feared  to  pursue,  lest  he 
should  be  drawn  into  an  ambush.  In  this  action  the  Americans  lost 
one  hundred  and  eighteen  in  killed  and  wounded :  the  English 
seventy -five.  In  the  night  the  English  General  followed  his  baggage 
across  to  Jamestown,  and  shortly  after  proceeded  to  Portsmouth, 
where  he  embarked  the  troops  required  for  New  York.  The  trans- 
ports had  not  yet  sailed,  however,  when  he  received  a  countermand 
from  Clinton,  who  wrote  that  he  had  no  longer  any  fear  of  an  attack 
on  New  York.  That  General  also  ordered  Cornwallis  to  establish 
himself  firmly  in  Virginia  ;  and  for  this  purpose,  to  occupy  a  suitable 
defensive  post,  capable  of  protecting  ships  of  the  line.  Old  Point 
Comfort  and  Yorktown  were  suggested ;  but  the  former  was  found 
unsuitable,  and  the  latter  accordingly  selected.  Here,  Cornwallis 
established  himself  in  the  latter  part  of  the  month  of  July,  1781,  and 
began  leisurely  to  fortify  the  place.  Little  did  he  think  it  was  the 
net  which  would  entangle  him,  and  from  which  he  should  come  out 
only  with  ruined  fortunes. 

While  these  events  were  passing  in  Virginia,  Washington,  at  the 
north,  had  been  planning  a  combined  attack  on  New  York.  At  first 
he  was  sanguine  of  bringing  over  the  French  allies  to  the  enterprise ; 
but  the  receipt  of  large  reinforcements  by  Clinton  soon  rendered  the 
affair  extremely  hazardous.  Moreover,  the  assistance  of  Admiral 
de  Grasse,  from  the  West  Indies,  was  necessary,  and  as  that  officer 
declared  his  instructions  forbade  him  to  remain  on  the  American 
coast  after  the  middle  of  October,  a  period  too  short  to  permit  the 
siege  of  New  York,  the  undertaking  was  of  necessity,  though  with 
great  reluctance,  abandoned.  But  Washington  did  not  yield  to 


THE    ALLIED    FORCES    SURROUND    YORKTOWN.  1.59 

despondency.  If  he  could  not  strike  in  one  place,  he  was  resolved 
to  do  so  in  another.  All  the  energies  of  his  mind  were  now  devoted 
to  secretly  preparing  an  expedition  against  Cornwallis,  with  which 
to  crush  that  General  forever.  His  arrangements  were  soon  per- 
fected, but  in  order  to  ensure  success,  it  was  necessary  to  deceive 
Clinton,  else  that  General  would  have  flown  to  the  succor  of  York- 
town.  Accordingly,  Rochambeau  marched  with  five  thousand  troops 
from  Newport  to  the  eastern  bank  of  the  Hudson,  where  Washing- 
ton effected  a  junction  with  him,  and  the  two  daily  insulted  the 
British  lines,  as  if  a  siege  was  already  preparing.  Meantime  letters 
were  written,  intended  to  be  intercepted,  full  of  hints  as  to  the 
approaching  investment.  Engineers  were  also  sent  to  reconnoitre 
the  island  of  New  York  from  the  opposite  shores.  Reports  of  de 
Grasse's  speedy  arrival  off  Sandy  Hook  were  circulated.  Pretended 
preparations  were  made  to  establish  a  camp  opposite  Staten  Island. 
Sir  Henry  Clinton  was  completely  deceived.  Even  when  Washing- 
ton had  advanced  to  Trenton,  the  British  General,  thinking  his 
adversary  was  only  manceuvreing  to  draw  him  from  his  lines, 
refused  to  stir  from  New  York.  At  last  the  American  leader 
received  intelligence  that  de  Grasse  was  off  the  coast.  Instantly 
the  army  was  put  in  motion,  and  advanced  with  great  rapidity 
through  Pennsylvania  to  the  head  of  Elk.  On  the  same  day,  the 
28th  of  August,  1781,  de  Grasse  entered  the  Chesapeake.  The 
snare  was  closing  around  Cornwallis.  His  star  already  waned  low 
and  lurid  in  the  setting  horizon. 

De  Grasse  immediately  proceeded  to  blockade  York  River  with  a 
part  of  his  force.  Thirty-two  hundred  troops  were  then  landed, 
under  the  Marquis  St.  Simon,  which  speedily  effected  a  junction 
with  La  Fayette.  This  had  scarcely  been  done,  when  Admiral 
Greaves,  with  the  English  fleet  from  the  West  Indies,  of  fourteen 
sail  of  the  line,  and  his  own  squadron  from  New  York,  of  five  sail 
of  the  line,  appeared  off  the  Capes  of  Virginia,  on  which  de  Grasse 
put  to  sea,  with  his  whole  force,  amounting  to  twenty-four  sail  of 
the  line,  in  order  to  give  him  battle.  After  a  partial  engagement, 
however,  night  separated  the  combatants.  The  hostile  squadrons 
manoeuvred  in  sight  of  each  other  for  five  days,  at  the  end  of  which 
time,  de  Grasse  returned  to  his  former  anchorage  within  the  Capes. 
Here  he  found  de  Barras,  who  had  left  Newport  on  the  25th  of 
August,  with  the  military  stores,  and  heavy  artillery,  suitable  for 
carrying  on  the  siege ;  and  had,  in  consequence  of  de  Grasse's 
demonstration,  successfully  eluded  the  British.  Admiral  Greaves, 
on  approaching  the  Chesapeake,  found  himself  in  presence  of  so 


160  THE   WAR  OF    INDEPENDENCE. 

superior  a  force,  that  he  thought  it  advisable  to  bear  away  for  New 
York.  Long  before  his  arrival  there,  however,  Clinton  had  dis- 
covered the  stratagem  by  which  Washington  had  lulled  his  appre- 
hensions respecting  the  south.  To  save  Cornwallis,  he  determined 
on  an  expedition  against  New  London,  which  was  accordingly  exe- 
cuted with  signal  atrocity,  under  the  command  of  Arnold,  but 
without  effecting  the  recall  of  the  American  army.  Meantime,  the 
French  Admiral,  after  seeing  the  siege  artillery  and  stores  landed, 
despatched  the  light  transports  to  bring  Washington's  army  down 
from  the  Head  of  Elk  to  Annapolis.  The  allied  forces,  now  twenty 
thousand  strong,  of  which  but  a  fifth  part  was  militia,  after  this 
advanced  to  the  vicinity  of  Williamsburgh,  and  closely  invested 
Cornwallis,  who,  with  an  army  of  seven  thousand,  found  himself 
beset  on  the  land  side  by  this  invincible  force,  and  on  the  sea  by 
nearly  thirty  sail  of  the  line. 

How  different  were  the  feelings  of  the  combatants  on  either  side. 
The  continentals  now  trod  with  the  elation  of  anticipated  triumph, 
over  the  ground  which  they  had,  but  a  few  years  before,  tracked 
with  their  fugitive  blood.  The  British,  lately  so  haughty  and 
assured  of  conquest,  gnashed  their  teeth  with  rage  and  despair,  to 
find  themselves  hopelessly  enclosed.  But,  before  we  proceed  further, 
let  us  describe  the  real  nature  of  their  position. 

The  town  of  York  lies  on  the  southern  shore  of  the  river  of  that 
name,  at  a  spot  where  the  banks  are  bold  and  high.  On  the  oppo- 
site side,  at  the  distance  of  a  mile,  is  Gloucester  Point,  a  strip  of  land 
projecting  far  into  the  stream.  Both  the  town  and  point  were  occu- 
pied by  Cornwallis,  the  communication  being  preserved  by  his 
batteries  ;  while  several  British  men-of-war  lay  under  his  guns,  for 
the  river  was  here  deep  enough  for  the  largest  ship  of  the  line. 

By  referring  to  the  map  a  clear  idea  may  be  gained  of  the  strength 
of  Cornwallis's  position.  It  will  be  seen  that  Yorktown  is  situated 
at  the  narrowest  part  of  the  peninsula  formed  by  the  York  and  James 
rivers,  where  the  distance  across  is  but  eight  miles.  By  placing  his 
troops,  therefore,  around  the  village,  and  drawing  about  them  a 
range  of  outer  redoubts  and  field  works  calculated  to  command  this 
peninsula,  Cornwallis  had  established  himself  in  a  position  of  great 
strength ;  while,  by  fortifying  Gloucester  Point  and  maintaining  the 
communication  between  it  and  Yorktown,  he  opened  a  door  for  the 
reception  of  supplies,  and  provided  a  way  of  escape  in  the  last 
emergency.  Yet  still,  when  he  considered  the  force  of  the  Ameri- 
cans, and  his  own  comparatively  scanty  numbers,  dark  seasons  of 
doubt  affected  even  his  composed  soul. 


SIEGE    OF   YORKTOWN. 


161 


Having  formed  a  junction  with  LaFayette,  the  allied  army,  com- 
manded by  Washington  in  person,  moved  down  from  Williamsburg 
to  Yorktown ;  and  on  the  30th  of  September  occupied  the  outer 
lines  of  Cornwallis,  which  that  General  had  abandoned  without  a 
struggle.  Two  thousand  men  were  detailed  to  the  Gloucester  side 
to  blockade  that  post.  The  investment  was  now  complete. 

It  was  not,  however,  until  the  night  of  the  6th  of  October  that  the 
Americans  broke  ground,  within  six  hundred  yards  of  the  enemy's 
lines,  the  intermediate  time  having  been  employed  in  bringing  up 
the  stores  and  heavy  artillery.  By  daybreak  the  trenches  were 
sufficiently  advanced  to  cover  trie  men.  In  less  than  four  days  a 
sufficient  number  of  batteries  and  redoubts  had  been  erected  to 
silence  the  fire  of  the  enemy.  On  the  10th,  (the  day  on  which  the 
British  withdrew  their  cannon  from  the  embrasures,)  the  red-hot  balls 
of  the  allied  batteries  set  fire  to  an  English  frigate  and  three  large 
transports  lying  in  the  harbor.  Cornwallis  now  began  to  despond. 
No  succor  had  arrived  from  New  York,  and  the  allies  were  pushing 
the  siege  with  extraordinary  vigor.  On  the  night  of  the  llth,  the 
second  parallel  was  opened  within  three  hundred  yards  of  the 
British  lines.  These  new  trenches  were  flanked  by  two  redoubts  in 
possession  of  the  enemy,  who,  taking  advantage  of  the  circumstance, 
opened  several  new  embrasures,  and  kept  up  .an  incessant  and 
21  o* 


162  THE   WAR  OF  INDEPENDENCE. 

destructive  fire.  It  became  necessary  to  carry  these  batteries  by 
storm ;  and  the  evening  of  the  fourteenth  was  fixed  for  the  purpose, 
one  redoubt  being  assigned  to  the  Americans  and  the  other  to  the 
French.  A  noble  emulation  fired  the  soldiers  of  the  respective 
nations  as  they  advanced  across  the  plain.  La  Fayette  led  the  con- 
tinentals :  the  Baron  de  Viominel  commanded  his  countrymen.  The 
redoubt  entrusted  to  the  Americans  was  carried  at  the  bayonet's 
point,  the  assailants  rushing  on  with  such  impetuosity  that  the  sap- 
pers had  not  time  to  remove  the  abattis  and  palisades.  The  French 
were  equally  courageous  and  successful,  though,  as  their  redoubt 
was  defended  by  a  larger  force,  the  conquest  was  not  so  speedy,  and 
their  loss  was  greater.  It  was,  at  one  time,  currently  believed  that 
La  Fayette,  with  the  concurrence  of  Washington,  had  issued  orders 
for  every  man  to  be  put  to  the  sword,  in  retaliation  for  the  massacre 
at  New  London,  a  few  weeks  before  ;  but  Colonel  Hamilton,  who 
took  part  in  the  assault,  and  who  had  ample  means  of  knowing  the 
truth,  has  publicly  denied  the  statement.  The  redoubts  were  the 
same  night  included  in  the  second  parallel,  and  their  guns,  the  next 
day,  made  ready  to  be  turned  against  the  foe. 

Cornwallis  was  now  reduced  to  extremities.  His  works  were 
crumbling  under  the  shot  of  the  first  parallel,  and  in  another  day 
new  trenches  would  open  their  fire  at  half  the  distance.  In  this 
emergency  he  resolved  on  a  sortie,  hoping  thus  to  retard  the  comple- 
tion of  the  batteries  in  the  second  parallel.  The  enterprise  was,  at 
first  successful,  and  the  two  batteries,  which  were  now  nearly  com- 
pleted, fell  into  the  hands  of  the  foe ;  but  the  guards  from  the 
trenches  immediatetly  hastening  to  the  assistance  of  their  fel- 
low soldiers,  the  enemy  was  dislodged  and  driven  back  into  his 
works.  The  same  day  the  second  parallel  opened  several  of  its 
batteries.  It  was  hoped  that  by  morning  every  gun  might  be 
brought  to  bear. 

Having  failed  in  his  sortie,  and  knowing  that  his  position  was 
now  untenable,  the  British  General  took  the  desperate  resolution  of 
crossing  over  to  Gloucester  Point  in  the  night,  and  cutting  his  way 
through  the  blockading  force  there :  then  mounting  his  men  on  what- 
ever horses  he  could  seize,  to  make  a  rapid  march  northward  and 
join  Sir  Henry  Clinton.  By  this  movement  he  would  abandon  his 
sick  and  baggage ;  but  he  would  save  himself  the  disgrace  of  a 
surrender.  Boats  were  secretly  procured,  and  the  first  embarkation 
reached  the  point  safely  and  unperceived ;  but,  at  this  juncture,  a 
violent  storm  arose,  which  drove  the  boats  down  the  river.  The 
tempest  continued  until  daylight,  when  the  enterprise  was  unavoid- 


SURRENDER    OP    CORNWALLIS.  163 

ably  given  up,  and  the  troops  that  had  passed  over  re-crossed  to  the 
southern  side. 

Thus  foiled  in  his  last  hope,  the  usually  buoyant  soul  of  Cornwal- 
lis  gave  way  to  despair.  He  had  continued  to  flatter  himself  that 
Clinton,  knowing  the  strait  he  was  in,  would  hurry  from  New  York 
to  his  aid.  As  early  as  the  twenty-ninth  of  September  he  had 
received  a  despatch  stating  that  succor  would  sail  on  the  5th  of 
October,  but  the  5th  had  long  come  and  gone,  and  still,  though  the 
besieged  watched  with  hourly  increasing  intensity,  the  welcome  sails 
of  the  British  fleet  did  not  whiten  the  distant  waters  of  the  bay. 
More  than  two  weeks  had  elapsed  since  the  despatch  was  received. 
Where  could  Clinton  be  ?  We  may  imagine  the  anxiety  with 
which  Cornwallis  daily  swept  the  horizon  with  his  glass ;  and  the 
disappointment  with  which  he  beheld  the  green  waste  stretching 
unbroken  to  the  sea-board.  He  had  now  played  his  last  card.  His 
works  were  like  moth-eaten  wood  around  him,  and  might  be 
expected  to  tumble  at  any  moment  to  the  earth.  His  chances  of 
escape  were  gone.  It  is  said,  that  in  the  mortification  and  anguish 
of  his  soul,  he  shed  tears,  and  expressed  his  preference  for  death 
rather  than  the  ignominy  of  a  surrender. 

But  there  was  no  resource.  At  ten  on  the  morning  of  the  17th, 
accordingly,  Cornwallis  beat  a  parley,  and  proposed  a  cessation  of 
hostilities  for  one  day,  in  order  to  agree  on  terms  for  the  surrender 
of  Yorktown  and  Gloucester.  Washington  granted  two  hours  for 
Cornwallis  to  prepare  his  proposals ;  and,  that  no  time  might  be  lost, 
sent  in  his  own.  The  answer  of  the  British  General  rendering  it 
probable  that  but  little  difficulty  would  occur  in  adjusting  the  terms, 
Washington  consented  to  the  cessation  of  hostilities.  On  the  18th 
the  commissioners  from  the  two  armies  met ;  but  evening  arrived 
before  they  could  agree  except  on  a  rough  draft  of  the  terms  of 
surrender.  These,  however,  Washington  caused  to  be  copied,  and 
sent  them  early  next  morning  to  Cornwallis,  determined  not  to  lose 
the  slightest  advantage  by  delay.  He  further  informed  the  British 
General  that  a  definitive  answer  was  expected  by  eleven  o'clock ; 
and  that  in  case  of  a  surrender,  the  garrison  must  march  out  by  two 
in  the  afternoon.  No  resource  being  left,  Cornwallis  signed. 

It  was  a  proud  day  for  the  war-worn  troops  of  America,  when  the 
richly  appointed  soldiery  of  Britain  marched  out  with  dejected  faces 
from  their  works,  and  in  profound  silence  stacked  their  arms  on  the 
plain,  in  presence  of  the  conquerors.  By  this  capitulation  more  than 
seven  thousand  prisoners,  exclusive  of  seamen,  fell  into  the  hands  of 
the  allies.  Among  the  captives  were  two  Generals,  and  thirty-one 


164 


THE    WAR    OF    INDEPENDENCE. 


SURRENDER  OF   CORNWALLIS. 


field  officers.  The  army,  artillery,  arms,  military  chest,  and  public 
stores  were  surrendered  to  Washington ;  while  the  ships  and  seamen 
were  assigned  to  Count  de  Grasse,  the  French  Admiral.  In  addition 
to  those  made  prisoners  at  the  capitulation,  the  loss  of  the  garrison, 
during  the  siege,  was  five  hundred  and  fifty- two.  The  allied  army 
lost  about  three  hundred.  The  siege  occupied  eleven  days  to  the 
opening  of  the  treaty,  and  thirteen  to  the  signing  of  the  capitulation. 
There  was  a  large  body  of  Americans  in  Yorktown  who  had  joined 
the  British  army,  and  Cornwallis  endeavored  to  provide  for  their 
safety  in  the  capitulation.  But  as  the  subject  belonged  to  the  civil 
department,  Washington  rejected  the  article.  The  escape  of  these 
men  was,  however,  humanely  c'onnived  at ;  for  a  sloop  of  war  was 
allowed  to  proceed  to  New  York  with  despatches  unsearched,  and  in 
her  they  embarked.  On  the  very  day  when  the  capitulation  was 
signed  at  Yorktown,  Sir  Henry  Clinton  sailed  from  Sandy  Hook  with 
seven  thousand  men  to  relieve  Cornwallis ;  but  on  the  24th,  when 
off  the  capes  of  Virginia,  having  received  intelligence  of  the  surren- 
der, he  altered  his  course  for  New  York. 


EFFECTS    OF    THE    SURRENDER    OF    CORNWALLIS.  165 

Before  the  siege  began,  a  circumstance  occurred  which  came  near 
destroying  the  success  of  the  campaign.  Immediately  after  the  arri- 
val of  Washington  at  Williamsburg,  the  Count  de  Grasse,  then  lying 
in  the  Chesapeake,  received  intelligence  that  the  British  fleet,  having 
been  reinforced,  was  preparing  to  attack  him  again ;  and  considering 
his  position  unfavorable  for  a  naval  combat,  he  determined  to  put  to 
sea  for  the  purpose  of  meeting  the  enemy,  leaving  only  a  few  frigates 
to  continue  the  blockade  of  Yorktown.  This  resolution  alarmed  the 
Commander-in-chief;  for,  if  the  Count  should  be  blown  off  the  coast, 
the  enemy  might  attain  a  temporary  superiority  on  those  waters, 
and  Cornwallis  be  either  succored  or  removed.  La  Fayette  was 
called  in  at  this  emergency,  and  by  his  representations,  seconded  by 
the  earnest  remonstrances  of  Washington,  the  design  was  abandoned. 
Too  much  credit  cannot  be  given  to  de  Grasse  for  thus  sacrificing 
his  personal  glory  to  the  success  of  the  expedition.  La  Fayette,  a 
few  days  before,  had  resisted  a  similar  temptation  to  win  renown. 
De  Grasse,  impatient  of  the  delay  of  Washington,  had  urged  his 
young  countryman  to  storm  the  then  unfinished  works  of  Cornwallis, 
declaring  that  it  was  impossible  for  him  longer  to  await  the  arrival 
of  the  Commander-in-chief.  But,  with  the  true  spirit  of  a  patriot, 
La  Fayette  refused  to  sacrifice  the  lives  of  his  soldiers,  when  the 
capture  of  the  enemy  might  be  secured,  without  bloodshed,  by  the 
delay  of  a  few  days. 

The  reduction  of  Yorktown  filled  the  country  with  exultation. 
Addresses  poured  in  on  the  Commander-in-chief  from  every  quarter; 
from  state  governments,  cities,  corporations  and  learned  bodies. 
Congress  returned  thanks  to  Washington,  to  Rochambeau,  and  to 
de  Grasse,  as  well  as  to  the  officers  generally,  and  to  the  corps  of 
artillery,  especially  to  the  engineers.  They  also  ordered  a  monument 
to  be  erected  on  the  scene  of  the  surrender,  commemorating  the 
glorious  event.  Two  stand  of  colors,  of  those  yielded  in  the  capitu- 
lation, were  presented  to  Washington;  two  pieces  of  field  ordnance 
to  Rochambeau,  and  the  permission  of  his  monarch  was  solicited  to 
bestow  a  similar  gift  on  de  Grasse.  The  whole  body  went  in  solemn 
procession  to  church,  in  order  to  return  thanks  to  Almighty  God  for 
the  success  of  the  allied  arms ;  and  a  proclamation  was  issued,  en- 
joining the  observance  of  the  13th  of  December  as  a  day  of  thanks- 
giving and  prayer. 

This  final  catastrophe  for  the  British  arms  may  be  regarded  as  the 
close  of  the  revolutionary  drama.  From  that  hour  England  lost  all 
heart  for  the  contest.  Seven  years  she  had  been  occupied  in  the 
attempt  to  reduce  her  colonies ;  and  she  was  now  further  from  her 


166  THE  WAR  OF  INDEPENDENCE. 

purpose  than  before  she  drew  her  sword.  The  loss  of  Cornwallis 
paralyzed  her  forever.  The  war,  though  protracted  for  a  year  or 
more,  was  confined  to  a  few  predatory  excursions  in  the  vicinity  of 
New  York,  and  to  the  expiring  struggles  of  the  English  in  South 
Carolina.  On  their  part  also  the  Americans  regarded  the  fall  of 
Yorktown  as  decisive ;  and  calculating  on  a  speedy  and  honorable 
peace,  were  content  to  rest  on  their  arms.  The  remainder  of  the 
story,  therefore,  may  be  narrated  in  few  words. 

After  their  signal  victory,  Washington  would  have  persuaded  de 
Grasse  to  further  attempts  on  the  continent  of  America,  and  pro- 
posed an  expedition  against  Charleston  as  feasible  and  full  of  glory : 
but  the  French  Admiral  pleaded  the  instructions  of  his  government 
not  to  remain  on  the  coast  later  than  the  middle  of  October,  and 
accordingly  set  sail  for  the  West  Indies.  Rochambeau,  however, 
with  the  troops  de  Grasse  had  landed  under  St.  Simon,  as  also  with 
those  he  had  himself  brought  from  Rhode  Island,  was  left  behind, 
and  took  up  his  quarters  at  Williamsburg.  The  American  troops 
belonging  eastward  of  Pennsylvania,  were  transported  by  water  to 
the  head  of  Elk,  and  thence  marched  to  cantonments  in  New  Jersey 
near  the  Hudson,  where  they  remained  very  generally  until  the 
conclusion  of  peace. 

The  news  of  the  capture  of  Cornwallis  reached  London  on  the 
25th  of  November,  1781,  and  caused  general  despair,  although  the 
ministry,  at  the  instigation  of  the  King,  still  declared  their  resolution 
to  carry  on  the  war.  But  the  sense  of  the  country  was  now  against 
them.  The  struggle  had  already  cost  England  one  hundred  thousand 
men,  and  seventy  millions  of  money ;  and  the  mercantile  classes 
and  country  gentlemen  began  to  regard  it  as  a  gulf  which  would 
swallow  up  their  means  interminably.  The  whigs  in  Parliament 
took  courage,  and  renewed  their  assaults  on  the  Cabinet  with  such 
vigor,  that  the  ministerial  majorities,  constantly  decreasing,  dimin- 
ished at  last,  on  the  22nd  of  February,  to  a  single  vote.  At  last 
the  King  consented  that  Lord  North  should  resign,  in  order  to 
make  room  for  a  Cabinet  more  favorable  to  peace.  Thus  the  En- 
glish monarch  found  himself  forced  to  submit  to  the  alternative 
which  his  own  minister  had  recommended  four  years  before.  But, 
in  the  meantime,  what  countless  lives  and  treasures  had  been  squan- 
dered to  gratify  the  obstinacy  or  whim  of  that  one  man ! 

Peace,  however,  was  not  yet  secured.  The  new  ministry  was 
made  up  of  discordant  materials,  and  before  it  could  be  brought  to 
act  on  the  subject,  its  head,  the  Marquis  of  Rockingham,  died,  and 
the  Cabinet  fell  to  pieces.  A  new  ministry  was  finally  arranged, 


THE    TREATY    OP    PEACE    SIGNED    FINALLY.  167 

and  the  prospect  of  a  termination  of  the  war  began  to  look  more 
favorable,  when  suddenly  an  incident  occurred  which  once  more 
endangered  everything.  This  was  an  intrigue,  on  the  part  of  the 
French  government,  to  prevent  the  recognition  of  American  inde- 
pendence. The  main  purpose  of  that  government,  in  becoming  the 
ally  of  the  colonies,  had  been  to  annoy  her  old  rival ;  and  she 
deemed  this  would  be  best  effected  now,  by  leaving  the  question  of 
independence  an  open  one,  and  arranging  a  hollow  truce,  instead  of 
a  permanent  peace,  between  Great  Britain  and  America.  She  had 
nearly  succeeded  in  this  subtle  scheme.  Franklin  even  fell  into  the 
plot,  and  a  treaty  would  probably  have  been  prepared  without  any 
formal  recognition  of  the  independence  of  the  colonies,  had  not  Jay, 
arriving  from  Madrid  to  assist  in  the  conferences,  seen  through  the 
intrigue,  and  by  a  single  bold  resolution,  cut  the  web  of  diplomacy, 
and  disconcerted  France.  He  wrote  to  the  English  ministry,  ex- 
posing the  trick  of  the  Court  of  Versailles,  and  arguing  that  it  was 
the  interest  of  Great  Britain  to  come  out  frankly  and  acknowledge 
the  independence  of  the  United  States,  as  a  preliminary  to  the 
treaty.  The  English  Cabinet  followed  his  suggestion,  and  the 
treaty  now  went  on  rapidly. 

Holland,  in  the  meantime,  had  followed  the  example  of  France 
in  recognizing  the  independence  of  America ;  and  on  the  8th  of 
October,  1782,  concluded  a  treaty  of  amity  and  commerce  with 
John  Adams,  the  minister  of  the  United  States.  He  also  obtained  a 
loan  of  money  from  her  about  the  same  time.  Spain  retarded  the 
negotiations  for  a  season,  by  her  abortive  efforts  to  secure  the  ces- 
sion of  Gibraltar ;  but  finding  this  impossible,  she  finally  consented 
to  accede  to  terms  less  favorable  to  herself.  Some  difficulty  was 
experienced,  on  the  part  of  America,  in  obtaining  a  share  of  the 
Newfoundland  fisheries,  in  which  France  took  little  interest.  All 
these  things,  however,  were  eventually  arranged  :  and  on  the  20th 
of  January,  1783,  preliminaries  were  signed  by  France,  Spain  arid 
Great  Britain.  Articles  between  Great  Britain  and  her  colonies  had 
already  been  signed  on  the  30th  of  the  preceding  November. 
These  treaties  were  proclaimed  by  Washington  to  his  army  on  the 
1 9th  of  April,  the  eighth  anniversary  of  the  battle  of  Lexington. 

In  February,  1783,  Sweden  and  Denmark  acknowledged  the 
independence  of  the  United  States ;  in  March,  Spain ;  and  in  July, 
Russia.  At  last,  on  the  3rd  of  September,  1783,  the  final  treaty  of 
peace  was  signed  at  Paris.  This  treaty  recognized  the  independence 
of  the  revolted  colonies ;  gave  them  the  right  of  fishery  as  of  old 


168  THE  WAR  OP  INDEPENDENCE, 

on  the  banks  of  Newfoundland ;  secured  to  creditors  the  payment 
of  debts  heretofore  contracted ;  prohibited  future  confiscations,  and 
recommended  to  Congress  the  restoration  of  former  ones  ;  established 
the  navigation  of  the  Mississippi  for  both  English  and  Americans ; 
and  ordered  all  conquests  made  after  the  treaty  to  be  restored. 
Thus  the  war,  after  more  than  eight  years  of  blood,  was  formally 
concluded,  as  it  had  virtually  been  for  nearly  two  years. 

The  army  still  remained  together,  however,  and  as  Congress  had 
no  money  to  pay  the  soldiers  before  disbanding,  it  was  feared  that 
some  difficulties  would  arise.  It  was  indeed  melancholy,  that  gal- 
lant men,  who  had  fought  the  battles  of  their  country  for  so  many 
years,  and  who  had  endured  privations  almost  incredible,  should 
now  be  turned  off  without  a  penny,  many  to  beg  their  way  home. 
The  officers  were  in  a  not  less  pitiable  condition.  In  1780,  Congress 
had  bestowed  on  them  half  pay  for  life,  but  nine  states  had  neg- 
lected or  refused  to  ratify  the  grant,  and  the  law  was  regarded 
virtually  a  dead  letter.  In  this  emergency,  in  December,  1782,  the 
officers  petitioned  Congress  to  repeal  this  law,  and  instead  of  half 
pay  for  life,  to  give  full  pay  for  five  years,  liquidating  in  the  mean- 
time all  arrearages.  Congress  hesitated  at  this  act  of  bare  justice. 
The  officers,  excited  by  the  prospect  of  approaching  want,  began  to 
threaten.  A  letter,  full  of  inflammatory  appeals,  was  privately  cir- 
culated in  the  camp  at  Newburgh.  All  was  tumult  and  recrimina- 
tion. Fortunately  for  the  country,  Washington  was  at  head-quarters 
at  this  crisis,  and  interposing  to  allay  the  storm,  he  called  the  officers 
together  and  expostulated  dispassionately  with  them.  At  his  per- 
suasions they  agreed  to  wait.  He  then  addressed  a  letter  to  Congress, 
in  which  he  so  energetically  advocated  the  justice  of  the  claim  that 
the  pay  for  five  years  was  bestowed. 

A  like  difficulty  occurred  with  the  soldiers.  In  October,  1783, 
Congress  issued  a  proclamation  that  all  persons  who  had  enlisted  for 
the  war,  were  to  be  discharged  on  the  3rd  of  December.  Large 
arrearages  were  due  these  veterans,  but  there  was  no  money  to 
discharge  the  debt.  The  prospect  before  them  was  gloomy  in  the 
extreme,  and  was  heightened  by  what  seemed  ingratitude  :  accord- 
ingly the  excitement  and  indignation  grew,  until  a  party  of  eighty 
marched  from  Lancaster  on  Philadelphia,  and  being  joined  by  others, 
surrounded  the  Hall  of  Congress  with  fixed  bayonets,  and  demanded 
that  their  just  claims  should  be  provided  for  in  twenty  minutes.  For 
three  hours  Congress  was  thus  imprisoned.  At  last  the  members 
separated  in  safety  to  re-assemble  at  Princeton.  Washington,  hear- 


RESIGNATION    OF    WASHINGTON.  16.9 

ing  of  the  tumult,  despatched  a  strong  force  to  check  the  insurgents ; 
but  before  its  arrival  the  disorder  had  subsided.  The  future  history 
of  the  private  soldiers  of  the  Revolution  is  soon  told ;  but  the  story 
is  a  painful  one,  and  we  would  willingly  have  excused  ourselves  the 
task.  On  the  day  appointed  the  men  were  disbanded,  and  many  of 
them  started  to  return  home,  without  a  penny  in  their  pockets  or 
decent  clothing  to  their  backs.  Some  had  to  travel  long  distances, 
and  were  frequently  on  the  point  of  starvation.  Others  were  com- 
pelled to  obtain  their  food  at  the  point  of  the  bayonet.  A  few  were 
received  with  gratitude,  and  assisted  along  their  route.  They 
returned  home  to  find  their  parents  dead,  or  their  families  scattered, 
or  their  patrimonial  property  ruined  by  long  neglect.  Some  carried 
with  them  the  seeds  of  diseases,  contracted  by  long  exposure  to 
inclement  skies,  which  rendered  them  invalids  for  the  rest  of  their 
lives.  Others  were  cripples  already,  and  had  nothing  but  beggary 
in  prospect.  Of  all  the  veterans  thus  disbanded,  a  few,  comparatively 
only  a  few,  survived  long  enough  to  obtain,  in  the  shape  of  a  pen- 
sion, some  late  return  for  their  sacrifices;  but  the  great  majority  died 
before  this  boon  came,  the  victims  either  of  disease,  or  beggary,  or 
broken  spirits.  How  little  do  we  estimate  the  price  at  which  our 
liberties  were  obtained ! 

The  city  of  New  York  was  finally  evacuated  by  the  British  on 
the  25th  of  November,  1783;  and  the  same  day  Washington,  attended 
by  Governor  Clinton,  entered  it  with  his  army.  On  the  4th  of  De- 
cember he  took  leave  of  his  officers.  The  scene  was  peculiarly 
affecting.  Many  there  present  had  followed  him  through  the  whole 
eight  years  of  the  contest :  had  shared  adversity  and  privation,  as 
well  as  triumph  and  security  with  their  beloved  leader ;  and  the  re- 
membrance of  these  scenes,  united  to  the  consciousness  that  they 
should  probably  never  see  him  again,  wrung  tears  from  their  eyes 
and  choked  their  voices  with  sobs,  as  they  took  his  hand  in  farewell. 
Washington  himself  could  not  conceal  his  emotion.  After  he  had 
parted  from  them  formally,  they  followed  him  to  the  water-side, 
where  he  embarked  in  a  barge  for  Paulus  Hook ;  and  as  long  as  the 
venerated  form  was  in  sight,  they  continued  on  the  wharf,  straining 
their  eyes  through  the  distance. 

Washington  proceeded  to  Annapolis,  where  Congress  was  in  ses- 
sion ;  and  there,  in  a  public  audience  of  that  body,  resigned  his  com- 
mission. He  expressed,  with  modest  dignity,  his  intention  of  return- 
ing to  private  life.  "  Having  finished  the  work  assigned  me,"  were 
his  words,  "  I  now  retire  from  the  great  theatre  of  action."  Memo- 
22  p 


170 


THE   WAR  OF  INDEPENDENCE. 


rable  language  !  Would  that  other  successful  revolutionary  leaders, 
the  Crom wells  and  Napoleons  of  history,  had  imitated  his  example ; 
then  of  the  various  struggles  for  freedom  which  the  world  has  seen, 
ours  would  not  have  been  the  only  permanently  successful  one. 


MOUNT    VERNON. 


GEORGE    WASHINGTON. 

!  N  pursuing  into  its  detail  the  story  of  the 
Revolution,  the  obvious  course  is  to  study 
'  the  lives  and  characters  of  its  most  eminent 
actors.  Biography  is  indeed  the  best  part 
of  history.  We  can  never  fully  understand 
any  great  event  in  the  annals  of  a  nation, 
until  we  have  made  ourselves  masters  of 
the  private  motives  of  the  leaders  who 
participated  in  it.  There  are  occurrences 
on  every  page  of  the  past  which  would 
otherwise  be  inexplicable.  History,  as 
usually  written,  is  too  dignified  and  stately  to  inform  us  of  those 
little  traits  which  yet  go  far  towards  deciding  the  destinies  of  na- 
tions ;  but  biography,  more  natural,  unfolds  to  us  the  private  life  of 
the  great  actors  on  the  world's  stage,  and  makes  us,  as  it  were,  their 
familiar  companions.  History  is  the  dial-plate,  on  which  grand  re- 
sults only  are  marked :  biography  lays  open  the  interior,  and  shows 
us  the  secret  springs  within. 

It  is  impossible  to  understand  the  war  of  independence  until  after 

p*  173 


174  THE  HEROES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 

a  long  and  patient  study  of  the  character  of  Washington.  Perhaps 
no  other  man  could  have  carried  the  nation  through  that  crisis. 
There  was  more  than  one  period  during  the  war  when  the  cause 
would  have  been  lost  but  for  his  prudence  and  skill ;  he  held  the 
army  together,  he  inspired  confidence,  he  breathed  only  resolution 
when  others  despaired.  The  trust  reposed  in  his  virtue  and  ability 
was  the  cohesive  principle  of  the  struggle.  Place  any  other  of  the 
men,  originally  proposed,  in  his  station,  and  imagine  what  would 
have  been  the  fatal  consequences  !  Lee  would  have  ruined  the 
cause  by  his  rashness,  after  having  alienated  the  officers  by  his 
tyranny :  Gates  would  have  been  depressed  by  the  first  defeat,  or 
exhilarated  by  victory  to  a  delirium  of  folly.  Some  would  have 
quarrelled  with  Congress  before  the  third  year  :  others  would  have 
hazarded  too  much  or  too  little.  Washington  alone,  of  all  the  earlier 
military  leaders,  possessed  that  union  of  moderation  and  daring — of 
prudence  and  ability — but  above  all,  that  consummate  judgment, 
and  that  reputation  for  exalted  virtue,  which  were  necessary,  with 
undisciplined  troops,  and  in  a  nation  distracted  by  party  strife  as 
much  as  by  local  prejudices,  to  secure  a  triumphant  result  to  the 
contest.  The  impression  became  general  even  before  the  close  of 
the  second  campaign,  that  Washington  was  the  only  man  capable 
of  carrying  the  country  successfully  through  the  war.  All  eyes  were 
turned  to  him  instinctively  in  seasons  of  peril.  Nor  did  he  disappoint 
these  expectations.  In  studying  the  war  of  independence  we  see 
Washington  ever  in  the  front.  August  and  high  he  towers  at  the 
head,  as  of  old  the  pillar  of  cloud  by  day  and  of  fire  by  night  moved 
in  the  van  of  Israel. 

Yet  the  character  of  Washington  would  be  better  appreciated,  if 
it  was  more  irregular.  The  exact  and  perfect  harmony  of  all  its 
members,  as  in  a  well-proportioned  temple,  conceals  from  us  its  col- 
lossal  magnitude  :  nor  can  we  do  justice  even  to  the  parts  singly,  so 
exactly  is  each  adapted  to  its  fellow,  and  so  symmetrically  do  they 
all  melt  into  the  whole.  It  is  a  common  remark,  that  his  letters  have 
too  much  the  air  of  state-papers :  that  his  character,  as  exhibited 
there,  is  cold,  impassive,  rigid.  This  is  because  he  is  always  himself. 
If  he  had  given  way  to  his  passions,  like  other  men :  if  he  had  pos- 
sessed some  one  quality  more  prominently  than  others :  if  he  had 
been  merely  a  great  captain,  or  a  wise  statesman,  or  an  incorruptible 
patriot,  his  character  might  have  seemed  more  forcible  :  but  because 
he  was  all  of  these,  men  scarcely  give  him  the  credit  of  being  either. 
At  present,  the  gigantic  career  of  Napoleon  leads  captive  the  popu- 
lar fancy.  But  though  the  memory  of  his  genius  will  endure  forever, 


GEORGE    WASHINGTON.  175 

the  estimation  of  his  character  sinks  lower  with  every  generation. 
The  fame  of  Washington,  on  the  contrary,  though  it  may  be  occa- 
sionally obscured,  by  more  intense,  yet  less  durable  luminaries, 
gleams  out  afresh  when  the  meteor  has  passed,  calm  and  steady  and 
undying.  It  has  been  well  remarked,  that  in  the  closing  careers  of 
these  two  men,  we  may  trace  a  harmony  with  the  rest  of  their  lives. 
Napoleon,  after  storming  through  Europe,  destroying  and  elevating 
Kings,  died,  at  last,  an  exile  ;  and  the  elements  without,  as  if  in  sym- 
pathy with  his  tempestuous  soul,  raged  in  their  wildest  commotion. 
Washington,  after  reaping  the  reward  of  his  patriotic  services,  in 
being  elevated  by  the  free  gift  of  the  people,  to  the  place  of  their 
ruler,  closed  his  career  in  the  bosom  of  his  family,  while  a  nation 
wept  at  his  grave.  Napoleon,  after  all  his  conquests,  left  no  perma- 
nent dynasty  in  Europe.  Washington,  less  ambitious,  was  the 
chief  founder  of  a  mighty  republic.  The  power  of  Napoleon,  won 
by  force  of  arms,  was  written  in  sand  ;  that  of  Washington,  sprung 
from,  and  perpetuated  by  patriotism,  will  be  immortal. 

George  Washington,  the  son  of  a  plain  farmer,  was  born  at 
Bridge's  Creek,  in  Westmoreland  county,  Virginia,  the  22nd  of 
February,  1 732.  He  was  only  ten  years  old  when  he  lost  his  father. 
His  education  which  was  derived  from  a  private  tutor,  was  good, 
though  not  elegant :  a  knowledge  of  the  ordinary  English  branches, 
to  which  was  afterwards  added  the  mathematics,  comprising  it  all. 
What  he  studied,  however,  he  acquired  thoroughly.  He  early 
imbibed  habits  of  method,  especially  in  the  despatch  of  business, 
which  attended  him  through  life.  At  the  age  of  fifteen,  he  procured 
a  midshipman's  warrant,  and  was  about  to  enter  a  royal  ship  then 
stationed  on  the  coast,  when,  at  the  entreaties  of  his  mother,  he 
abandoned  his  design.  The  mother  of  Washington  appears,  at  all 
times,  to  have  exercised  a  powerful  influence  over  him.  Not  only 
did  she  early  implant  into  his  mind  those  moral  and  religious  princi- 
ples which  guided  him  in  after  life ;  but  her  advice  frequently 
influenced  him,  even  when  he  had  become  the  leader  of  armies,  and 
the  head  of  a  mighty  people. 

Washington  for  some  years,  followed  the  profession  of  a  surveyor. 
He  early  displayed  a  taste  for  military  affairs.  At  the  age  of  nine- 
teen, he  was  appointed  Adjutant-General  of  the  militia,  with  the  rank 
of  Major.  In  1753,  when  Governor  Dinwiddie  wished  to  send  a  mes- 
senger to  the  French  fort  on  the  western  frontier,  in  order  to  warn  the 
commander  against  his  encroachments  on  the  territory  of  Virginia, 
he  selected  Washington  for  this  delicate  and  hazardous  task.  The 
duty  was  performed,  in  less  than  three  months,  amid  perils,  fatigue 


176 


THE  HEROES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 


WASHINGTON'S  INTERVIEW  WITH  THE  COMMANDER  OF  THE  FRENCH  FOBT. 

and  difficulties  almost  innumerable.  In  1754,  Washington  marched, 
with  the  rank  of  Lieutenant-Colonel,  as  second  in  command,  against 
the  French  on  the  Ohio ;  and  his  superior  dying,  the  responsibility 
of  the  expedition  devolved  wholly  on  himself.  He  had  advanced 
but  part  of  his  way,  when  he  heard  of  the  approach  of  a  superior 
force,  on  which  he  fell  back,  and  entrenched  himself  at  a  place 
railed  Fort  Necessity.  A  severe  action  ensued,  the  result  of  which 
was  an  honorable  capitulation,  by  which  the  Americans  retained 
their  arms  and  baggage,  and  were  allowed  to  return  unmolested 
home. 

In  the  meantime,  Washington,  by  the  death  of  his  elder  brother, 
had  become  possessed  of  the  estate  of  Mount  Vernon  :  and  to  this 
place  he  now  retired,  and  devoted  himself  to  agriculture.  An 
order  having  been  received  from  England,  commanding  that 
officers  commissioned  by  the  King  should  take  rank  of  the  pro- 
vincial officers,  Washington  indignantly  threw  up  his  commis- 
sion. In  the  spring  of  1755,  however,  he  accepted  an  invitation 
from  General  Braddock  to  act  as  his  Aid-de-camp ;  and  it  is 
to  his  exertions,  chiefly,  that  the  British  army  was  not  totally 
annihilated  on  the  bloody  field  of  Monongahela.  In  1758,  Wash- 
ington commanded  the  Virginia  troops,  in  the  expedition  against 


GEORGE    WASHINGTON.  177 

Fort  du  Quesne,  but  finding  the  place,  on  his  arival,  abandoned, 
the  army  returned  without  a  battle.  During  the  whole  of  the  four 
years,  between  1755  and  1759,  he  was  actively  engaged,  at  the 
head  of  his  regiment,  in  defending  the  western  frontier.  In  the 
latter  year  he  resigned  this  second  commission,  and  retired  again  to 
private  life.  Soon  after,  he  married  Mrs.  Custis,  a  young,  beautiful, 
and  wealthy  widow  :  and,  for  the  next  twenty  years  devoted  him- 
self to  the  cultivation  of  his  estates,  and  the  enjoyment  of  that 
domestic  repose  of  which  he  was  so  fond. 

Washington,  during  this  period,  frequently  served  in  the  legislature 
of  his  native  state  ;  and  early  took  part  with  those  who  resisted  the 
encroachments  of  Great  Britain.  His  large  fortune  made  his  accession 
to  the  popular  side  a  matter  of  importance  ;  and,  though  too  modest 
to  thrust  himself  forward,  he  at  once  acquired  great  influence.  In 
the  various  discussions  that  arose,  he  rarely  spoke,  but  when  he  did, 
his  opinion  was  listened  to  with  avidity,  for  the  accuracy  of  his 
judgment  had  already  passed  into  a  proverb.  He  was  a  member 
of  the  first  Congress,  in  1774,  where  his  solidity  of  mind  soon  distin- 
guished him  above  the  mass.  On  all  military  subjects,  especially, 
his  opinion  was  listened  to  with  the  greatest  deference.  In  1775, 
after  the  news  of  the  battle  of  Lexington,  Congress  proceeded  to  form 
a  continental  army,  of  which  Washington  was  unanimously  elected 
Commander-in-chief.  He  proceeded  at  once  to  Cambridge,  in  Massa- 
chussetts ;  and  his  history,  from  this  period  to  the  close  of  the  contest, 
becomes  the  history  of  the  war. 

In  1783,  when  peace  was  established,  he  resigned  his  commission, 
and  once  more  sought  the  repose  and  privacy  of  Mount  Vernon. 
Here  he  remained  until  1787,  when  he  was  persuaded  from  his 
retreat,  to  lend  his  name  and  influence  to  the  Convention  which 
framed  the  present  federal  Constitution.  In  1789,  he  was  unani- 
mously elected  the  first  President  of  the  United  States  :  and  in  1793, 
he  was  re-elected,  though  against  his  private  wishes,  for  a  second 
term.  The  eight  years  of  his  administration  form,  perhaps,  the 
most  important  in  our  civil  annals ;  as,  during  that  period,  the  con- 
stitution, if  we  may  use  so  homely  a  phrase,  was  put  into  working 
order.  In  1796,  notwithstanding  the  entreaties  of  his  friends,  Wash- 
ington retired  from  his  elevated  position,  with  the  determination  never 
again  to  enter  public  life.  He  was  shaken  from  his  purpose,  in  a 
measure,  by  the  threatened  French  war  of  1798,  when  he  was 
appointed  Commander-in-chief  of  the  army  to  be  raised,  -with 
extraordinary  privileges.  But  his  days  were  now  drawing  to  a 
close.  On  the  13th  of  December,  1799,  he  was  caught  in  a  shower 
23 


178  THE  HEROES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 

of  rain,  while  riding  over  his  farm ;  and  a  violent  inflammation  of 
the  windpipe  ensuing,  he  died  on  the  following  day,  in  the  sixty- 
eighth  year  of  his  age.  We  have  thus  hurried  over  the  events  of 
his  life,  professing  to  do  little  more  than  glance  at  them  in  chro- 
nological order,  because  his  biography  is  familiar  to  all.  We  pass, 
as  speedily  as  possible,  to  a  consideration  of  his  character,  in  its 
three-fold  capacity  of  the  leader,  the  patriot,  and  the  hero  ! 

As  a  MILITARY  LEADER,  Washington  possessed  one  rare  and 
valuable  quality — a  consummate  judgment,  which  rarely,  or  never 
led  him  wrong.  His  mind  was  singularly  impartial  and  comprehen- 
sive. No  sophistry  could  deceive  him.  He  took  in  every  bearing 
of  the  subject  on  which  he  was  called  to  give  an  opinion.  Other 
men  burrowed,  amid  narrow  veins,  and  saw  but  one  aspect :  he 
soared  so  high  that  every  side  came  under  his  vision  at  once. 
Though,  like  all  Generals,  he  committed  occasional  errors,  they 
were  usually  of  comparatively  little  importance.  There  is  no  great 
movement  of  his,  in  stratagy  or  tactics,  which  can  be  considered  a, 
positive  blunder.  He  early  saw  that  the  war,  in  consequence  of  the 
inefficiency  of  his  troops,  was  to  be  carried  on  chiefly  with  the  spade 
and  pick ;  and  accordingly,  he  changed  at  once  the  whole  character 
of  his  operations,  and  stood  on  the  defensive.  This  he  continued  to 
do  year  after  year,  until  he  had  made  an  army  of  veterans,  when 
he  suddenly  resorted  to  the  aggressive  again,  and  closed  his  military 
career  with  the  brilliant  affair  at  Yorktown.  Nearly  every  enter- 
prise of  the  war,  against  which  his  advice  was  given,  terminated 
disastrously.  He  recommended  all  those  measures  which  either 
resulted  favorably,  or  were  rendered  abortive  only  by  unforeseen 
accidents.  It  was  as  rare  to  find  Washington's  judgment  wrong,  as 
it  is  usual  to  find  that  of  ordinary  men  right.  Its  accuracy  has 
passed  into  a  proverb. 

But  Washington  possessed  another  quality,  of  the  most  signal 
importance  to  a  General.  He  had  an  iron  will.  Intellect  is  of  little 
avail,  unless  the  will  is  resolute.  Many  persons  might  have  suc- 
ceeded in  great  designs,  if  they  had  been  gifted  with  the  nerve  to 
execute  what  the  brain  conceived.  An  iron  will  had  been  Wash- 
ington's characteristic  from  boyhood ;  and  in  mature  life  it  did  not 
desert  him.  When  his  mind  was  once  satisfied  of  the  justice  and 
necessity  of  an  act,  he  was,  of  all  men,  the  most  inflexible  in  per- 
forming it.  This  is  shown  by  his  conduct  in  Andre's  case,  where 
he  signed  the  death-warrant,  although  he  shed  tears  in  the  act. 
This  is  exhibited,  also,  in  his  behavior  in  the  affair  of  young  Asgill, 
where  he  remained  immoveable,  though  at  great  pain  of  mind  to 


GEORGE    WASHINGTON.  179 

himself,  until  Congress  interfered  and  released  the  unfortunate  youth. 
This  iron  will  led  him,  after  he  had  once  embarked  in  a  measure,  to 
carry  it  through  at  all  hazards.  During  his  Presidency,  at  the 
period  of  the  Jay  treaty,  when  the  House  of  Representatives  refused 
the  necessary  appropriation,  his  memorable  message  awed  down 
all  opposition,  and  settled  a  most  important  precedent  forever.  His 
iron  will  turned  the  tide  of  battle  at  Monmouth,  and  changed  defeat 
into  victory.  His  iron  will  led  him  to  write  to  Congress,  when 
Lord  North's  conciliatory  bills  arrived,  in  1778, — "  Nothing  short 
of  independence,  it  appears  to  me,  can  possibly  do."  It  was  his 
iron  will  which  spoke  out  in  the  dark  crisis  of  1776,  when,  instead 
of  harboring  a  thought  of  submission,  he  proposed,  in  case  Philadel- 
phia fell,  to  retire  to  the  Alleghanies.  It  was  this  iron  will,  almost 
as  much  as  his  genius  or  patriotism,  which  carried  America  through 
the  war.  Men  saw  his  bold  front  in  the  storm,  and  took  courage 
to  brave  it  out ! 

He  was  not  less  remarkable  for  high  daring.  This  is  a  charac- 
teristic usually  denied  him,  because  circumstances  forced  him  to 
hold  it  in  check.  But,  from  boyhood,  Washington  was  celebrated 
for  a  bold  and  adventurous  spirit,  which  carried  him  into  the  midst 
of  dangers  and  difficulties  from  which  others  shrank.  In  wrestling, 
leaping,  and  in  all  athletic  exercises,  he  would  suffer  no  one  to  sur- 
pass him.  His  spirit  of  daring,  so  judiciously  combined  with  a  good 
judgment,  recommended  him  to  Gov.  Dinwiddie,  as  a  suitable  per- 
son to  execute  the  celebrated  mission  to  the  French  post  upon  the 
lake.  Twice,  when  lying  before  Boston,  he  wished  to  assault  the 
town ;  but  was  prevented  by  the  council  of  officers,  with  which 
Congress,  at  that  time,  fettered  him ;  and  his  correspondence  evinces 
how  much  he  chafed  under  the  restraint.  It  is  strange  into  what 
contradictions  men  fall !  Those  who  deny  him  daring  are  the  very 
ones  who  complain  of  his  anxiety  to  assault  Boston,  prophesying 
that,  if  the  storm  had  taken  place,  it  would  have  been  promptly 
repulsed.  Washington  want  daring  !  Then  have  Monmouth,  and 
Princeton,  and  Trenton  told  their  tales  in  vain. 

If  Washington  had  died  immediately  after  the  latter  battle,  he 
would  have  left  a  very  different  impression  in  popular  history.  The 
memory  of  that  dashing  campaign,  alone  surviving,  would  have  won 
for  him  the  name  of  the  Napoleon  of  America.  Men  would  have 
prognosticated  that,  in  case  he  had  survived,  the  meteoric  career  of 
the  Corsican  would  have  been  anticipated  on  this  continent.  How 
imperfect  is  human  reason  !  It  was  not  possible,  in  a  country  like 
America,  to  play  continuously  the  same  bold  game  of  war.  Wash- 


V 

180  THE  HEROES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 

ington  had  not  the  troops,  with  which  to  hazard  such  enterprises, 
unless  in  rare  periods  of  spasmodic  excitement,  when  enthusiasm 
supplied,  for  the  moment,  the  confidence  of  veterans.  It  was  in  the 
acute  perception  he  had  of  this  fact  that  he  showed  his  genius.  We 
believe  that  Napoleon,  if  he  had  heen  in  Washington's  situation, 
would  have  temporized  as  much  as  he :  and  if  he  had  not  tempo- 
rized, we  are  sure  he  would  have  been  the  worse  General.  The 
original  bent  of  Washington's  mind  was  to  bold  and  rapid  measures. 
But,  finding  that,  in  consequence  of  short  enlistments,  the  bulk  of 
his  army  was  destined  to  be  composed  of  raw  recruits,  he  resolved 
to  adopt  a  cautious  policy,  and  to  this  resolution  he  firmly  adhered, 
sacrificing,  in  so  doing,  his  natural  inclination,  and  even  his  personal 
fame.  Abandoning  all  hope  of  speedy  and  dazzling  success,  he  set 
himself  to  work  to  make  the  best  of  his  miserable  army.  He  had 
to  deal,  however,  not  only  with  them,  but  with  a  careless,  often  an 
ignorant,  and,  on  some  occasions,  even  a  factious  Congress,  which 
continually  neglected,  if  it  did  not  thwart  his  views.  It  is  the 
remark  of  Professor  Smith,  of  Cambridge  University,  in  England, 
that  no  General  ever  contended  successfully,  for  so  long  a  period, 
with  such  difficulties  as  Washington.  This  is  high  testimony,  from 
an  impartial  source. 

In  personal  courage,  Washington  was  pre-eminent.  At  the  battle 
of  Monongahela,  after  the  fall  of  Braddock,  the  salvation  of  the 
army  devolved  on  his  exertions ;  and  in  endeavoring  to  preserve  the 
troops,  he  galloped  incessantly  through  the  thickest  of  the  fight,  a 
conspicuous  mark  for  the  enemy.  An  Indian  chief  afterwards 
declared  that  he  had  ordered  his  young  men  to  fire,  five  times,  at 
Washington.  Two  horses  were  shot  under  him ;  and  four  balls 
passed  through  his  coat.  His  fellow  aids  sank  beside  him.  The 
soldiers,  as  they  stood  in  their  ranks,  went  down  like  com  smitten 
by  a  whirlwind.  Yet  he  continued,  amid  this  carnage,  as  coo  as 
on  a  parade.  At  Kipp's  Bay,  after  the  battle  of  Long  Island,  per- 
ceiving his  men  flying  before  the  foe,  he  rushed  in  the  van,  and 
presented  his  bosom  to  the  hurricane  of  balls,  in  the  desperate,  but 
vain  effort  to  shame  the  troops  into  courage.  At  Princeton,  on  a 
similar  emergency,  he  seized  a  standard,  and  galloping  between  the 
enemy  and  his  hesitating  soldiers,  waved  it  above  his  head  to  cheer 
them  on,  his  tall  form  towering  indignant  above  the  smoke  of  battle, 
like  one  of  the  old  Homeric  gods.  At  Germantown  it  was  neces- 
sary to  force  him  from  the  field.  Washington  never  remained  idly 
in  his  tent,  like  Gates ;  but  was  ever  present  in  the  actual  strife, 
ready,  if  occasion  required,  to  flame  in  the  foremost  fray  ' 


GEORGE    WASHINGTON. 


181 


WASHINGTON'S  HEAD-QUARTEBS  AT  CAMBRIDGE. 


Washington  possessed  another  qualification,  which  is  usually  re- 
garded as  the  peculiar  gift  of  genius,  an  insight  into  character  bor- 
dering on  the  miraculous.  If  he  wished  a  task  performed,  of 
whatever  description,  he  knew,  at  once,  who  was  most  capable  to 
execute  it.  He  had  scarcely  been  at  Cambridge  a  week,  before  he 
had  determined  the  exact  value  of  each  of  his  Generals :  and  it  is 
astonishing  to  find  how  invariably  his  estimate  of  each  was  confirmed 
by  subsequent  events.  Putnam  he  pronounced  an  admirable  exe- 
cutive officer:  and  words  could  not  have  described  that  hero  better. 
He  selected  Arnold  for  the  enterprise  of  invading  Canada,  by  the 
then  untrodden  route  of  the  Kennebec ;  and,  perhaps,  no  other  man 
in  the  whole  army  could  have  crossed  that  wilderness  as  he  did.  Of 
the  value  of  Greene  he  was  aware  from  the  first,  as  is  evident  by 
the  reliance  he  placed  in  that  officer's  judgment ;  although  five  years 
were  destined  to  elapse  before  the  country  at  large,  or  even  the 
army,  could  become  sensible  of  the  comprehensive  intellect  of  the 
Rhode  Island  General.  Washington  always,  in  private,  acknow- 

Q 


182  THE  HEROES  OP  THE  BEVOLUTION. 

ledged  the  inefficiency  of  Gates,  and  of  numerous  others,  who,  be- 
ginning with  high  reputations,  finished  in  disgrace  and  retirement. 

In  strategy  his  skill  is  proved  by  the  fear  with  which  he  infected 
the  enemy.  Howe  was  always  trembling  lest  he  should  find  himself 
unexpectedly  surrounded  or  entrapped.  The  march  from  the  Hud- 
son to  Virginia,  with  the  whole  series  of  manoeuvres  ending  in  the 
capture  of  Cornwallis,  was  scarcely  a  less  brilliant  affair,  though  on 
a  smaller  scale,  than  the  famous  advance  of  Napoleon,  from  Bou- 
logne up  the  valley  of  the  Rhine,  ending  in  the  capture  of  Ulm  and  the 
battle  of  Austerlitz.  It  must  not  be  forgotten  that  Washington  planned, 
in  a  great  degree,  both  the  northern  and  southern  series  of  operations, 
which  led  respectively  to  the  capture  of  Burgoyne  and  the  expulsion 
of  the  English  from  South  Carolina.  In  the  former  campaign  it  was 
Washington  who  called  out  the  New  England  militia  under  Lincoln; 
who  despatched  Morgan  to  the  camp  of  Gates  ;  and  who  advised,  in 
conjunction  with  Schuyler,  the  breaking  up  of  the  roads,  which,  by 
delaying  Burgoyne's  advance,  did  more  towards  effecting  his  sur- 
render than  even  the  battle  of  Saratoga.  It  was  Washington,  who, 
in  conjunction  with  Greene,  sketched  the  outline  of  the  southern 
campaign,  which  terminated  so  triumphantly.  In  fact,  the  caution 
of  the  British  Generals  throughout  the  whole  war,  evinces  their  opi- 
nion of  the  superior  skill  of  Washington ;  for,  in  no  other  way  can 
we  explain  their  inactivity,  with  forces  often  superior  to  his  numeri- 
cally, and  always  so  in  discipline,  appointments,  and  confidence  in 
themselves.  Had  Washington  been  a  worse  strategist — had  he  even 
been  less  of  a  tactician — he  would  have  had  to  fight  two  battles 
where  he  fought  one,  and  fight  them  at  a  disadvantage ;  but  it  is  a 
remarkable  fact,  that  he  never,  during  the  whole  contest,  delivered 
a  pitched  battle  at  the  choice  of  the  enemy.  Napoleon,  during  his 
career,  was  continually  forcing  his  enemies  to  fight  against  their 
will :  the  British  Generals  never  could,  by  any  series  of  manoeuvres, 
compel  Washington  to  this.  Cornwallis  was,  perhaps,  the  best  of 
the  English  Generals,  and  enjoyed  a  high  reputation  for  strategy 
and  skill ;  yet  he  was  surrounded  at  Yorktown  by  an  army  coming 
from  a  distance  of  three  hundred  miles.  Why  had  Washington  no 
Yorktown  ?  Not,  certainly,  from  want  of  inviting  opportunities  for 
the  British.  After  the  battle  of  Long  Island ;  again  when  crossing 
the  Jerseys  in  1776;  on  the  Assunpink ;  at  Valley  Forge;  and  in 
other  emergencies,  he  was  in  the  most  desperate  straits,  yet  he  al- 
ways found,  in  the  resources  of  his  capacious  mind,  some  means  of 
escape.  If  four  Generals  in  succession,  besides  several  entire  armies, 
failed  to  conquer  America,  it  was  not  on  account  of  want  of  talent 


GEORGE    WASHINGTON.  183 

or  means  on  the  part  of  the  enemy;  but  because  the  genius  of  Wash- 
ington proved  too  gigantic  for  any,  or  all  of  his  competitors.  Like 
the  victorious  challenger  in  Ivanhoe,  he  overthrew,  in  succession, 
every  antagonist  that  ventured  against  him,  until  the  enemy  being 
wearied  out,  and  the  lists  cleared,  he  remained  master  of  the  field. 

It  has  become  the  fashion,  of  late  years,  to  depreciate  the  military 
genius  of  Washington.  This  is  the  result,  perhaps,  not  so  much  of 
malice,  as  of  positive  ignorance  of  his  merits  in  the  war  of  indepen- 
dence !  We  will  not  compare  him  with  Napoleon,  for  such  a  con- 
trast would  be  illogical,  Washington  never  having  had  the  means 
at  his  command  to  perform  the  prodigies  of  that  extraordinary  man. 
The  largest  army  ever  led  by  the  American  commander  was  smaller 
than  the  smallest  that  ever  fought  under  the  French  Emperor.  The 
one  strode  the  stage  in  every  thing  colossal :  the  other  moved  in  a 
narrower  sphere  and  with  fewer  means.  The  popular  mind  is  always 
more  affected  by  the  intelligence  of  a  great  battle,  in  which  hundreds 
of  thousands  of  men  combatted,  than  by  the  despatch  announcing 
the  victory  of  a  comparatively  small  force,  even  though  greater  skill 
may  have  been  evinced  by  the  latter.  There  is  something  in  gigan- 
tic slaughter  impressing  the  mind  with  mysterious  awe.  It  is  not  the 
wonderful  series  of  battles  fought  by  Napoleon  in  Champaigne, 
which  has  left  the  most  .profound  impression  on  the  mass ;  but  the 
terrific  contests  of  Eylau,  Austerlitz,  Wagram,  and  that  crowning 
hecatomb  of  all,  Waterloo  !  In  perusing  the  description  of  the  first 
battle  at  Dresden,  where  five  hundred  cannon  on  the  allied  side 
alone,  cresting  the  heights  around  that  city,  shook  the  solid  moun- 
tains with  their  explosions,  the  reader  is  carried  away  by  a  sort 
of  wild  enthusiasm  ;  and  when  he  follows  the  story  to  the  last  despe- 
rate struggle  at  Leipsig,  where  three  hundred  thousand  men  poured 
down  on  little  more  than  half  that  number,  and  where  the  roar  and 
blaze  of  two  thousand  pieces  of  artillery  convulsed  earth  and  sky,  his 
feelings  become  excited  to  a  pitch  that  is  uncontrollable.  So,  too, 
when,  at  Waterloo,  he  sees  wave  after  wave  of  French  infantry  and 
cavalry  sweep  up  the  declivity  on  which  the  British  stood,  and  beat- 
ing vainly  against  their  solid  squares,  roll  back  shattered  into  atoms ; 
when  he  marks  the  sun  rising  to  the  zenith,  then  halting,  as  it  were, 
at  noon,  and  then,  resuming  his  course,  declining  at  last  towards  the 
west,  yet  all  this  while,  the  thunder  of  the  cannon  and  the  shock  of 
charging  squadrons  continuing  unabated,  while  the  clatter  of  sabres 
rises  up  like  the  ringing  of  ten  thousand  anvils ;  when,  as  night  be- 
gins to  fall,  he  witnesses  that  last  column  of  the  old  guard  marshalled 
for  the  attack — beholds  their  silent,  steady  march  as  they  descend 


184          '   THE  HEROES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 

into  the  valley  and  begin  to  mount  the  opposite  ascent — marks  the 
point  where,  meeting  the  concentric  fire  of  the  English  batteries, 
their  head  melts  away,  like  an  icicle  in  a  summer  sun — and  finally, 
perceives  the  whole  British  line  suddenly  appear  over  the  crest,  as 
if  rising  at  an  enchanter's  summons,  and  then,  with  loud  huzzas, 
advancing  on  the  assailants,  push  them  by  main  force  down  the  hill, 
where  rout,  confusion,  dismay  and  horror  ensue,  until  Napoleon 
himself  exclaiming,  in  bitter  anguish,  "  tfest  fini"  is  dragged  from 
the  field  : — when  he  sees  all  this,  he  forgets  himself,  and  in  the  mag- 
nitude and  splendor  of  the  theme,  flings  down  the  book,  transported, 
for  the  moment,  into  more  than  mortal  enthusiasm !  After  such 
fields  as  Waterloo,  he  may  be  excused  for  thinking  all  others  tame. 
It  does  not  surprise  us,  therefore,  to  see  the  battle-fields  of  the 
Revolution  neglected,  or  the  military  genius  of  Washington  and  his 
Generals  depreciated.  The  mass  must  always  be  dazzled  before  it 
can  bow  down  and  worship.  In  any  comparison,  in  the  popular  mind, 
between  Napoleon  and  Washington  as  Generals,  the  one  rises  to  a 
demi-god,  while  the  other  sinks  almost  below  a  man.  Yet,  it  is  a 
serious  question,  whether  the  difference  between  the  two  is  as  great 
as  even  the  most  ardent  admirers  of  the  latter  have  supposed.  Na- 
poleon himself  was  accustomed  to  say  that  the  battles  of  Trenton 
and  Princeton  had  first  suggested  to  him  his  own  daring  system  of 
warfare.  If  merit  is  to  be  measured  by  the  results  obtained,  Wash- 
ington was  certainly  one  of  the  greatest  Generals  on  record.  If 
genius  is  shown  in  moulding  an  army  out  of  the  most  unpromising 
materials,  the  American  commander  stands  without  a  rival  in  the 
page  of  history.  Never  had  a  military  chief  so  many  obstacles-  to 
encounter.  His  army,  composed  at  first  of  wholly  undisciplined 
troops,  was  continually  changing,  so  that,  at  no  time,  had  he  any 
considerable  number  of  veterans  on  whom  he  could  rely:  and  instead 
of  wielding  the  whole  resources  of  the  country  with  absolute  despot- 
ism, he  was  frequently  thwarted  in  his  best  schemes  by  Congress. 
There  is  not  a  battle  in  Napoleon's  history  which  we  can  say  would 
have  been  gained,  if  his  troops  had  been  as  ill-accoutred,  and  of  the 
same  material  as  those  of  the  American  commander.  Looking  only 
at  the  disparity  of  the  royal  and  patriotic  armies  in  mere  numbers, 
without  any  reference  to  the  superiority  of  the  former  in  all  that 
constitutes  a  soldier,  it  seems  a  miracle,  in  a  military  point  of  view, 
that  the  British  Generals  did  not  annihilate  Washington  in  the  first 
year  of  the  contest.  It  is  usual  to  attribute  their  failure  to  the  indo- 
mitable spirit  of  the  American  people.  This  is,  in  part,  true ;  but 
only  in  part.  In  examining  the  revolutionary  annals,  we  find,  with 


GEORGE    WASHINGTON. 


185 


pain,  less  of  this  spirit  than  we  had  been  led  to  suppose :  and  far  too 
little,  unassisted  of  other  influences,  to  have  achieved  our  indepen- 
dence. So  long  as  the  cause  seemed  prosperous,  there  were  friends 
enough  to  liberty ;  but  when  the  contest  began  to  look  hopeless,  the 
British  protections  were  eagerly  accepted.  It  is  useless  to  disguise  the 
shameful  fact.  After  the  retreat  of  Washington  across  the  Jerseys, 
in  1776,  nearly  the  whole  of  that  state  went  over  to  the  royal  side ; 


COPY   OF   A   GOLD   MEDAL   PRESENTED   TO   WASHINGTON   BY   CONGRESS. 


Pennsylvania  began  also  to  waver ;  and  but  for  the  unconquerable 
resolution  of  the  American  commander,  and  that  of  some  other 
equally  indomitable  souls  in  Congress  and  the  army,  the  whole 
cause  would  have  gone  by  the  board.  The  ship  had  already  struck, 
and  it  is  not  too  much  to  say,  that  Washington,  in  that  crisis,  was 
the  main  bolt  that  held  her  from  parting  into  a  thousand  pieces. 
Had  he  wavered  one  instant  in  his  public  correspondence,  or  had 
the  battle  of  Trenton  been  lost,  instead  of  gained,  we  have  every 
reason  to  believe  there  would  have  ensued  one  of  the  most  shame- 
ful spectacles  of  defection  recorded  in  history.  There  would  have 
been  a  scramble  to  desert  the  patriotic  side,  each  man  seeking  to  be 
the  first  to  merit  the  royal  clemency  and  favor.  What  happened  in 
South  Carolina,  and  in  New  Jersey,  should  warn  us  of  what  would 
24  * 


186  THE  HEROES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 

have  happened  in  other  places.  If  two  of  the  most  patriotic  states 
abandoned,  almost  to  a  man,  the  popular  side,  what  would  have 
been  the  result  if  the  army  of  Washington  had  been  crushed  at 
Trenton — if  he  himself  had  been  made  a  prisoner  or  killed — if  all 
organized  opposition  thereafter,  had  been  put  hopelessly  at  an  end  ? 

The  battle  of  Trenton,  so  often  alluded  to  in  these  remarks,  was 
the  turning  point  of  the  contest.  The  character  of  Washington  can- 
not be  understood  without  a  perfect  comprehension  of  that  affair, 
with  all  its  attendant  circumstances.  It  is  because  the  importance 
of  this  battle  has  never  been  made  sufficiently  clear,  that  Washing- 
ton is  regarded  as  indecisive  ;  that  the  title  of  the  American  Fabius, 
and  no  more,  is  applied  to  him  ;  that  he  is  denied  the  genius  for  bold 
and  sudden  enterprises.  Yet  there  is  nowhere  in  the  annals  of 
history,  an  undertaking  of  greater  daring  than  the  movement  on 
Trenton.  Washington  was  not  unaware  that,  if  the  attack  failed, 
escape,  with  the  wintry  Delaware  behind  him,  would  have  been 
impossible  :  he  staked,  therefore,  not  only  his  own  life,  but  the  exist- 
ence of  his  army,  and  with  it  the  question  of  independence  or  sub- 
mission, then  and  forever.  In  deciding  to  march  on  Trenton,  he 
emphatically  put  everything  "  at  the  hazard  of  a  die."  There  can 
be  no  doubt  that,  when  he  landed  on  the  Jersey  shore,  on  that 
eventful  morning,  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  conquer  or  perish. 
It  was  no  half-way  measure.  The  axe  and  scaffold  were  before  him 
in  case  of  capture  ;  ruin  to  his  family  and  country  in  the  event  of 
death  or  defeat.  He  resolved  to  hazard  the  stroke.  Flinging  him- 
self, like  Leonidas  at  Thermopylae,  into  the  last  pass,  he  determined 
to  hurl  back  the  invader,  or  immolate  himself  and  his  army  ! 

And  he  was  right!  The  campaign  of  1776,  up  to  the  surprise 
at  Trenton,  had  been  only  a  series  of  disasters.  Defeat  had  followed 
defeat,  and  defection  defection,  until  the  boldest  trembled  for  life  and 
liberty.  The  enemy  had  gained  possession  of  Rhode  Island,  Long 
Island,  the  city  of  New  York,  Staten  Island,  and  nearly  the  whole 
of  the  Jerseys :  and  now,  separated  only  by  the  Delaware,  from 
Philadelphia,  they  might  be  expected,  every  moment,  to  seize  that 
city.  Congress  had  already  fled  to  Baltimore.  Lee,  on  whom  so 
much  reliance  had  been  placed,  was  a  captive.  The  army,  lately 
fifteen  thousand  strong,  had  dwindled  down,  by  defeats,  by  desertion, 
by  the  expiration  of  enlistments,  and  by  sickness,  to  scarcely  two 
thousand  men :  and  these,  illy  clothed,  and  so  poorly  equipped  that 
they  scarcely  deserved  the  name  of  troops,  had  barely  escaped 
across  the  Delaware,  from  the  hot  pursuit  of  Cornwallis.  The 
British  were  pressing  an  with  twenty-five  thousand  men  1  A  procla- 


GEORGE    WASHINGTON.  187 

mation  had  been  published  jointly  by  Lord  Howe  and  his  brother, 
offering  pardon  in  the  King's  name  to  all,  who,  in  sixty  days,  should 
take  the  oath  of  allegiance,  and  come  under  his  protection :  and 
many  persons,  among  them  men  of  wealth  and  influence,  not  only 
in  New  Jersey,  but  in  Pennsylvania,  had  accepted  these  terms. 
Hundreds  of  others  hesitated,  ready  to  be  decided,  the  instant  the 
royal  army  crossed  the  Delaware.  The  panic  was  universal,  and 
spread  even  to  the  common  people.  The  hurricane  prostrated  every- 
thing before  it. 

Washington,  almost  alone,  stood  unappalled.  From  the  moment 
he  had  crossed  the  Delaware,  and  gained  thus  a  respite  for  his  troops, 
he  had  been  revolving  in  his  mind  a  plan  to  change,  by  one  bold  act, 
the  scales  of  war.  He  was  assisted,  in  his  resolution,  by  the  alacrity 
with  which  the  Pennsylvania  militia  began  to  turn  out.  A  large 
body  of  these  men,  under  the  command  of  General  Cadwalader, 
had  already  assembled  at  Bristol,  and  further  accessions  were 
daily  expected  from  the  yeomanry  of  the  eastern  counties,  now 
thoroughly  aroused.  By  neither  his  counsels  nor  his  conduct  did 
Washington  betray  a  thought  of  yielding.  "  If  Philadelphia  falls," 
he  said  in  public,  "  we  must  retreat  beyond  the  Susquehannah,  and 
thence,  if  necessary,  to  the  Alleghany  Mountains."  His  letters,  for 
a  fortnight  before  the  battle,  all  point  to  the  stroke  he  was  maturing 
in  his  mind.  No  historical  fact  can  be  more  certain  than  that  the 
idea  of  the  surprise  first  originated  with  himself:  though,  as  he  had 
spoken  of  the  necessity  of  some  such  measure  frequently  before, 
others  came  at  last  to  suggest  it,  or  a  similar  movement.  The  plan, 
as  finally  resolved  on,  was  all  his  own.  The  British  lay  at  Trenton, 
fifteen  hundred  strong  ;  while  smaller  detachments  occupied  Burling- 
ton, Bordentown,  Black-Horse,  and  Mount  Holly.  Washington,  in 
person,  proposed  to  cross  the  Delaware  with  the  continental  troops, 
above  Trenton :  while  Ewing,  with  a  portion  of  the  Pennsylvania 
militia,  should  cross  below,  and  both  unite  in  an  attack  on  that  place. 
Cadwallader,  with  the  rest,  was  to  cross  at  Bristol.  In  the  end, 
neither  of  the  two  latter  were  able  to  effect  their  part  of  the  plan : 
hence,  for  the  present  we  shall  leave  them  and  follow  Washington. 

The  night  of  the  25th  of  December  had  been  selected  for  the 
attack,  because  it  was  supposed  the  enemy,  on  that  festive  occasion, 
would  be  more  or  less  off  his  guard.  Early  in  the  afternoon,  accord- 
ingly, the  troops  were  mustered  at  McConkey's  Ferry,  on  the  west 
side  of  the  Delaware,  eight  miles  above  Trenton.  The  weather  had 
been  unusually  warm  for  the  season,  until  within  a  day  or  two 
before,  when  it  had  set  in  cold  >  and  the  river  was  now  full  of  ice, 


188 


THE  HEROES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 


grinding  and  rumbling  in  the  tide,  with  the  noise  of  thunder.  In 
consequence  of  this  obstacle,  the  army,  which  it  had  been  calculated 
would  pass  over  by  midnight,  was  not  able  to  reach  the  eastern  shore 
until  after  four  o'clock ;  and  at  times,  it  seemed  impossible  that  it 
could  cross  at  all.  During  these  awful  moments  of  suspense,  Wash- 


WASHINGTON   CROSSING   THE   DELAWARE. 


ington  sat,  exposed  to  all  the  rigors  of  the  night,  eyeing  the  progress 
of  the  boats,  which,  now  jamned  in  between  large  masses  of  ice, 
and  now  nearly  over-lapped  by  fragments  of  the  same  material, 
{tiling  one  above  another, — threatened  momentarily  to  be  engulphed. 
The  wind  roared  among  the  skeleton  trees  that  lined  the  shore ;  the 
crashing  and  splitting  of  the  ice  filled  the  wind  with  images  of 
terror ;  and  occasionally  gusts  of  hail  and  sleet,  premonitory  of  the 
coming  tempest,  dashed  fiercely  in  the  face.  Yet  still  he  sat,  on  that 
rude  seat  prepared  for  him  near  the  shore,  unmoved,  yet  filled  with 
intense  anxiety,  and  watching  the  struggling  boats,  by  the  light  of 
the  few  stars,  which  broke,  here  and  there,  through  the  stormy  rack 
of  heaven. 

His  force  consisted  of  about  twenty-four  hundred  men,  with, 
twenty  brass  field-pieces.     The  distance  from  the  landing  place  to 
Trenton,  by  the  river  road,  is  eight  miles ;  but,  by  the  more  cir- 
cuitous Pennington  road,  rather  more.     Washington's  plan  was  to 


GEORGE    WASHINGTON.  189 

divide  his  forces,  allowing  Sullivan,  with  one  half,  to  take  the  river 
road,  while  he,  with  the  remainder,  should  pursue  the  longer  route, 
timing  their  progress  in  such  a  way,  however,  as  to  enable  both  to 
reach  the  opposite  sides  of  Trenton  at  the  same  time,  and  thus  make 
a  simultaneous  attack.  Accordingly,  after  proceeding  a  mile  in 
company,  the  two  divisions  parted.  Washington  watched  the  troops 
of  Sullivan  until  they  faded  in  the  gloom,  and  then  turned  to  follow 
Greene's  division,  which  was  already  some  distance  in  advance. 
The  night  was  fast  growing  darker.  The  snow,  which  had  hitherto 
come  only  in  squalls,  now  began  to  fall  steadily,  accompanied  occa- 
sionally with  hail  and  sleet.  The  flakes,  thick  and  whirling, 
obscured  the  way  ;  the  icy  particles  rattled  on  the  knapsacks ;  and 
the  wind  moaned  across  the  landscape,  as  if  wailing  over  the 
approaching  ruin  of  America.  Many  of  the  soldiers  were  scantily 
clothed  :  a  few  had  neither  stockings  nor  shoes,  but,  as  they  marched, 
left  their  bloody  footsteps  in  the  snow.  The  tempest  roared  louder 
and  fiercer,  increasing  every  moment.  Yet  still  the  men  toiled  on. 
Some  of  them  noticed  that  the  wet  had  spoiled  their  powder,  and 
on  this  being  reported  to  Washington,  he  remarked,  with  resolution, 
"  then  we  must  fight  with  the  bayonet."  Every  one  felt,  with  their 
leader,  that  it  was  the  hour  of  crisis :  and  so,  though  shivering  and 
weary,  they  toiled  resolutely  on.  They  were  yet  two  miles  from 
Trenton  when  the  dawn  began  to  break.  Two  of  their  number, 
exhausted  and  frozen,  dropped  from  their  ranks  and  died.  But  the 
others  still  pressed  on.  History,  perhaps,  presents  no  parallel  to 
that  eventful  march.  No  martial  band  was  there  to  exhilarate 
the  men ;  no  gilded  banner  floated  on  high ;  no  splendid  forest  of 
sabres  guarded  that  infantry,  toiling  on  its  way,  with  triple  TOAVS  of 
steel.  In  silence,  like  the  Spartans  of  old,  the  Americans  pursued 
their  route.  The  inhabitants  of  the  farm  houses  they  passed,  half, 
waking  from  slumber,  fancied,  for  a  moment,  there  were  strange 
sounds  upon  the  breeze ;  but  imagining  what  they  heard  only  the 
intonations  of  the  tempest,  they  turned  and  slept  again,  little 
thinking  that  the  destiny  of  their  country  quivered,  that  hour,  in  the 
balance. 

Washington  rode  beside  his  scanty  band,  oppressed  with  anxious 
thoughts.  Even  more  taciturn  than  usual,  he  scarcely  exchanged  a 
syllable  with  his  staff.  His  mighty  bosom,  we  may  well  suppose, 
was  oppressed  with  the  awful  crisis  approaching.  Everything  hung 
on  the  next  half  hour.  The  accidental  discharge  of  a  musket,  the 
timely  warning  of  a  single  traitor  might  ruin  all.  Never  did  his 
anxiety  rise  to  such  a  pitch  as  now.  At  last,  word  was  passed  down 


THE  HEROES  OP  THE  REVOLUTION. 

the  line  in  a  whisper  that  the  outposts  of  the  enemy  were  close  at 
hand ;  and  now  the  great  hero  rode  forward  to  the  head  of  his 
troops.  The  moment  of  destiny  had  arrived.  Washington  endea- 
vored, for  an  instant,  to  penetrate  with  his  vision,  the  gloom  ahead : 
then  reining  up  his  steed,  he  turned  to  his  troops,  his  sword  pointed 
in  the  advance.  The  front  ranks  only  were  in  sound  of  his  voice, 
but  they  pressed  around  him  to  hear  his  words.  "  Soldiers,"  he 
said,  "  now,  or  never  !  This  is  our  last  chance — march  on  !" 

His  voice  was  husky  as  he  spoke,  for  all  the  mighty  responsibili- 
ties of  the  crisis  had  crowded  on  his  mind !  But  the  tone  of  that 
voice,  the  stirring  eloquence  of  those  brief  words,  filled  the  hearts  of 
his  hearers  with  one  common  sentiment,  which  they  expressed  in 
their  glances,  as  they  looked,  with  half  glistening  eyes  at  each 
other ! — it  was  to  conquer  or  die  !  The  address  was  repeated  from 
mouth  to  mouth,  along  the  line,  and  thrilled  every  heart.  Involun- 
tarily the  men,  as  they  listened,  grasped  their  muskets  more  firmly, 
and  stepped  quicker  on.  All  was  now  breathless  excitement. 
Suddenly  a  house  loomed  up  through  the  fog  ahead !  The  next 
moment  a  challenge  was  heard  :  answers  were  rapidly  exchanged  ; 
and  then  a  hurried  discharge  of  musketry  blazed  irregularly  through 
the  storm.  The  picquet  of  the  enemy  had  been  surprised.  "  For- 
ward," rung  out  in  the  deep  tones  of  Washington,  at  that  instant;  and 
with  the  word,  the  men  started  like  hounds  let  loose  from  the  leash, 
poured  in  a  withering  fire,  and  driving  the  picquet  furiously  before 
them,  pursued  it  to  the  outskirts  of  the  town. 

In  Trenton,  the  night  had  been  one  of  festivity.  The  soldiers 
were  mostly  in  the  beer-shops  carousing  :  and  even  the  officers  had 
given  themselves  up  to  mirth.  Col.  Rahl  had  been  engaged,  all 
night,  at  his  head-quarters  playing  cards,  and  it  is  a  tradition  that  a 
note,  conveying  intelligence  of  the  contemplated  attack,  had  been 
delivered  to  him  about  midnight,  but  being  occupied  with  the  game, 
he  had  slipped  it  into  his  pocket,  and  afterwards  forgot  it.  A  more 
authentic  story  is,  that  General  Grant,  at  Princeton,  forwarded  the 
note,  and  that  Rahl  acted  on  it  at  once ;  but  an  advance  party 
returning  from  the  Jerseys  to  Pennsylvania,  about  two  hours  before 
the  real  attack,  fell  in  with  the  Hessian  picquet,  and  being  repulsed, 
this  was  supposed  to  be  the'  intended  surprise.  In  consequence,  the 
Hessians  had  relapsed  into  greater  security  than  ever.  On  the  noise 
of  the  firing  at  the  outposts,  Rahl  stopped  and  listened  :  the  driving 
sleet  pattering  against  the  window  panes,  for  a  moment  deceived 
him  ;  but  then,  loud  and  distinct,  succeeded  the  rattle  of  musketry  : 
he  dropped  his  cards,  sprang  to  the  door,  and  looked  out.  At  that 


GEORGE    WASHINGTON.  191 

instant  some  of  the  Hessian  soldiers  came  running  down  the  street, 
exclaiming  that  Washington  was  upon  them.  Rahl  shouted  to  arms, 
and  called  for  his  horse.  He  sprang  into  the  saddle  :  the  drums ' 
beat ;  and  in  an  instant  the  whole  town  was  in  a  tumult.  The  sol- 
diers rushed  from  their  quarters,  some  with,  some  without  arms ; 
the  officers  were  heard  calling  to  their  men,  and  endeavoring  to  form 
the  ranks  ;  while  the  inhabitants,  hurrying  to  their  doors  and  win- 
dows, looked  out,  a  moment,  at  the  storm  and  uproar,  and  then 
hastened  to  conceal  themselves  in  the  most  secret  recesses  of  their 
dwellings. 

The  Hessian  outpost,  as  it  fled,  kept  up  a  desultory  fire,  its  men 
dodging  from  house  to  house,  like  Indians  in  a  frontier  fight.  On 
approaching  the  town,  Washington  saw  the  enemy  already  drawn  up 
to  receive  him :  Rahl  galloping  hither  and  thither,  eager  to  make 
up  for  his  want  of  caution,  by  energy  and  boldness.  The  American 
commander  instantly  ordered  up  the  artillery.  Quick  as  lightning, 
Knox  galloped  to  the  front,  unlimbered  his  guns,  and  swept  the 
solid  ranks  before  him,  with  a  storm  of  tfiery  sleet.  The  infantry, 
on  right  and  left,  meantime  poured  in  their  musketry.  A  dropping 
fire  from  the  enemy  replied.  Another  round  of  cannon  and  small 
arms  followed :  and  then  the  Hessians  were  seen  perceptibly  to 
waver.  At  this  instant,  the  rattle  of  musketry  was  heard  coming 
from  the  opposite  end  of  the  town,  where  Sullivan  was  expected  to 
enter.  The  enemy  were  in  the  net :  escape  was  impossible.  The 
enthusiasm  was  now  unbounded,  and  the  men,  cheering,  swept 
onwards  with  accelerated  pace ;  while  the  Hessians,  wildly  breaking 
their  ranks,  drove  before  them  in  rapid  and  tumultuous  flight. 

The  city  of  Trenton  is  built  in  the  corner  of  a  right-angled  triangle, 
formed  by  the  junction  of  the  Assunpink  creek  with  the  Delaware. 
The  river  road  follows  the  course  of  the  Delaware,  here  nearly  east, 
until,  just  before  reaching  the  Assunpink,  it  turns  sharp  to  the  north- 
east, and  runs  through  the  lower  part  of  the  town,  nearly  parallel  to 
the  Assunpink.  The  road  by  which  Washington  came,  enters 
Trenton  at  the  upper  end  of  the  city,  and  passing  nearly  due  south, 
intersects  the  route  followed  by  Sullivan,  about  the  centre  of  the 
town.  In  consequence,  as  soon  as  Sullivan  reached  his  position,  the 
Hessians  were  partially  surrounded;  and  would  have  been  alto- 
gether so,  if  General  Ewirig  could  have  crossed  below  Trenton,  as 
arranged,  and  cut  off  escape  by  the  bridge  over  the  Assunpink.  In 
the  panic  of  the  first  alarm,  a  body  of  Hessians,  five  hundred  strong, 
besides  a  company  of  light-horse,  without  waiting  to  assist  their 
companions,  fled  across  this  bridge  towards  Bordentown,  and  made 


192  THE  HEROES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 

good  their  escape.  The  remainder,  under  Rahl,  at  the  upper  end 
of  the  town,  finding,  by  the  firing  to  the  south,  that  the  enemy  had 
cut  off  retreat  in  that  direction,  broke  from  the  main-street,  where 
they  had  first  been  drawn  up,  and  taking  a  diagonal  course  across 
the  fields,  to  the  east,  sought  to  escape  by  the  road  to  Princeton. 
To  prevent  this,  Washington  threw  a  detachment  of  Virginia  troops 
between  them  and  the  highway.  Thus  hemmed  in,  but  one  course 
remained  for  them ;  which  was  to  fly  towards  the  Assunpink,  and 
endeavor,  if  possible,  to  ford  it.  Thither,  accordingly,  one  portion  of 
them  hurried,  no  longer  keeping  their  ranks  however,  but  huddled 
wildly  together,  jostling  and  treading  on  each  other  in  their  mortal 
panic. 

But  fast  as  they  fled,  the  Americans  pursued  as  fast.  Whenever 
the  Hessians  turned  in  their  fright,  they  saw  the  enemy,  nigher 
than  before ;  while  still  that  fatal  rattle  of  fire-arms  was  main- 
tained, accompanied  by  exulting  huzzas.  At  every  step,  some  new 
victim  dropped  from  the  ranks  of  the  fugitives,  and  was  silent  for- 
ever. In  vain  the  brave  «Rahl  tried  to  rally  his  troops.  He  was 
shot  while  thus  engaged,  and  fell  mortally  wounded.  Then  the 
panic  became  greater  than  ever.  Through  the  orchard  on  their  left ; 
by  the  grave-yard  of  the  Presbyterian  Church ;  across  the  common 
at  the  end  of  the  street,  by  which  Sullivan  was  advancing,  the  Hes- 
sians hurried  frantically  on,  the  officers  borne  resistlessly  with  them, 
a  wild,  confused,  terror-struck  torrent.  At  last  they  reached  the 
Assunpink.  Here  some  threw  themselves  in,  and  were  frozen  to 
death,  in  attempting  to  swim  across.  But  the  larger  portion,  flying  to 
a  rock  which  juts  out  into  the  stream,  and  discovering  further  escape 
impossible,  grounded  their  arms,  loudly  supplicating  quarter. 

Another  portion  had  cast  themselves  into  a  stone  house  in  their 
way,  carrying  with  them  a  piece  of  artillery,  which  they  posted  in 
the  hall.  Captain  Washington  immediately  unlimbered  one  of  his 
field  pieces,  and,  for  a  few  minutes,  the  ground  shook  with  the  ex- 
plosions of  the  hostile  cannon.  But  the  fire  growing  every  minute 
more  sure  and  deadly,  and  his  men  beginning  to  waver,  he  suddenly 
resolved  on  one  of  those  bold  strokes  of  personal  daring,  which  carry 
back  the  imagination  to  the  days  of  Richard  at  Ascalon.  Dashing 
from  the  ranks,  he  sprang  into  the  house,  seized  the  officer  in  com- 
mand of  the  gun  and  ordered  him  to  surrender.  The  Hessians  drew 
back,  astonished  and  uncertain.  That  single  moment  of  doubt  de- 
cided their  fate.  Washington's  men,  rushing  after  him,  had  filled 
the  hall,  before  the  enemy  could  recover  from  their  amazement ;  and 
the  whole  party  accordingly  was  made  prisoners.  Washington  was 


GEORGE    WASHINGTON.  193 

the  only  one  of  the  assailants  wounded,  receiving  a  ball  in  his  hand 
as  he  entered  the  house. 

The  battle  was  now  over.  When  those  who  had-  been  captured 
by  Sullivan  were  added  to  those  taken  prisoners  by  Washington,  the 
whole  number  was  found  to  be  nine  hundred  and  nine,  of  whom 
twenty-three  were  officers.  The  Hessians  lost  seven  officers  and 
nearly  thirty  men  killed :  only  two  officers  of  the  Americans,  and  a 
few  privates  were  wounded.  About  a  thousand  stand  of  arms  fell 
into  the  hands  of  the  victors.  As  Washington  rode  over  the  field, 
after  the  conflict  was  at  an  end,  he  found  Colonel  Rahl,  in  the  snow, 
weltering  in  his  blood.  He  instantly  ordered  that  his  own  physician 
should  attend  the  unfortunate  man ;  but  medical  assistance  was  in 
vain :  Rahl  had  received  a  mortal  wound,  and  being  carried  back  to 
his  head-quarters,  died.  It  was,  perhaps,  better  that  he  should  thus 
close  his  life,  than  survive  to  face  the  obloquy  of  having,  by  his 
carelessness  or  misfortune,  ruined  the  royal  cause. 

The  Americans,  when  they  found  the  victory  their  own,  could 
not  conceal  the  exhilaration  of  their  spirits.  It  was  the  first  gleam 
of  success  after  an  unbroken  series  of  misfortunes.  A  load  seemed 
removed  from  every  heart.  The  men  forgot  their  sufferings,  and 
congratulated  each  other  as  on  a  festival ;  while  the  officers,  looking 
forward  into  the  future,  foresaw  the  day  when  they  should  be  fol- 
lowed by  acclamations  as  they  revisited  this  scene,  and  the  murmur 
go  round,  "  he,  too,  fought  at  Trenton."  Washington  alone,  pre- 
served his  equanimity.  What  the  secret  emotions  of  that  mighty 
heart  must  have  been,  we  can  imagine,  but  not  adequately  describe^ 
He  busied  himself,  apart,  in  making  preparations  to  secure  his  vic- 
tory ;  and  so  successfully,  that,  before  night,  the  prisoners  were  all 
transported  to  the  western  shore  of  the  Delaware.  His  next  measure 
was  to  march  them  to  Philadelphia,  where  they  were  paraded 
through  the  streets,  while  the  inhabitants,  as  they  looked  on,  gazed 
in  speechless  amazement,  like  spectators  at  some  exhibition  of  magic 
in  Arabian  story.  The  fact  that  the  first  rumor  of  the  victory  was 
received  with  incredulity,  and  the  capture  of  the  Hessians  disbe- 
lieved up  to  the  very  moment  of  their  appearance  in  the  city,  proves, 
more  than  volumes  of  reasoning,  the  general  depression  of  the  pub- 
lic mind,  and  the  conviction  of  the  invincibility  of  the  royal  troops. 
The  moral  consequences  of  the  battle  of  Trenton  were  infinitely 
greater  than  its  mere  physical  results.  It  changed,  at  once,  the 
doubting  into  friends ;  it  made  the  hostile  neutral ;  and  it  convinced 
the  patriot  that  God  was  on  his  side,  and  that  his  country  would  yet 
be  free  !  R 

25 


194  THE  HEROES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 

If  the  original  plan  of  the  battle  had  been  carried  into  effect,  it  is 
probable  not  a  British  soldier,  south  of  Princeton,  would  have  made 
his  escape.  Could  Ewing  have  effected  his  passage  below  Trenton, 
he  would  have  intercepted  the  detachment  that  fled  over  the  Assun- 
pink  bridge :  while,  if  Cadwalader  had  been  able  to  cross  from 
Bristol,  not  only  Burlington,  but  Bordentown,  Mount  Holly  and 
Black  Horse,  must  have  fallen  into  his  hands.  Washington,  how- 
ever, was  determined  not  to  lose  the  advantage  he  had  gained.  The 
enemy,  yet  staggering  under  his  blow,  had  abandoned  all  his  posts 
and  fallen  back  on  Princeton :  it  was  the  design  of  the  American 
commander,  if  possible,  to  throw  him  back  still  further,  and  clear 
west  Jersey  of  his  presence.  Accordingly,  on  the  30th  of  De- 
cember, his  troops  having  been  recruited,  Washington  crossed  the 
Delaware  again  and  took  post  at  Trenton.  General  Cadwalader, 
with  fifteen  hundred  Pennsylvania  militia,  and  shortly  after,  Gene- 
ral Mifflin,  with  as  many  more,  succeeded  also  in  passing  the  river, 
and  formed  a  junction  with  Washington.  Meantime  Cornwallis, 
who  had  proceeded  to  New  York  to  embark  for  Europe,  considered 
affairs  in  too  critical  a  state  to  leave ;  and  suspending  his  departure, 
hastened  back  to  Princeton,  collecting,  on  his  way,  all  the  regiments 
he  could  muster,  and  concentrating  them  on  that  point.  Having 
prepared  a  force  sufficient,  as  he  thought,  to  annihilate  Washington, 
he  left  Princeton  on  the  2nd  of  January,  1777,  and  advanced  on 
Trenton.  Washington,  learning  his  approach  by  scouts,  sent  forward 
detachments  to  skirmish  and  impede  his  way,  which  was  done  with 
such  success,  that  the  royal  General  could  not  reach  Trenton  until 
four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon.  By  this  time  the  American  leader  had 
retired  to  the  eastern  shore  of  the  Assunpink,  where  there  is  a  high 
bank ;  and  forming  his  men  there,  with  the  artillery  to  defend  the 
bridge,  he  awaited  the  onset. 

A  furious  conflict  ensued.  The  British  assailed  the  Americans  at 
two  different  points,  one  attack  being  directed  against  the  bridge,  and 
the  other  against  a  ford  lower  down.  At  the  latter  place,  the  enemy 
was  repulsed  promptly,  and  with  such  slaughter,  that  the  stream 
was  choked  up  with  his  dead.  But  the  main  assault  was  at  the  former 
position.  The  ground  on  the  eastern  shore  of  the  river,  here  declines 
from  all  sides  towards  the  bridge,  so  that  the  Americans  were  able  to 
range  themselves  on  the  slopes,  rank  above  rank,  like  spectators  in 
an  amphitheatre.  An  old  mill,  frowning  over  the  bank  at  this 
spot,  afforded  a  rude  fortress  to  command  the  passage.  A 
heavy  battery  of  artillery  was  posted  in  the  road,  just  beyond,  its 
gaping  mouths  pointed  so  as  to  sweep  the  bridge.  Thus  prepared, 


GEORGE    WASHINGTON.  195 

the  Americans  awaited  the  assault.  All  eyes,  in  their  crowded 
ranks,  were  meanwhile  silently  directed  across  that  narrow  cause- 
way, and  up  the  long  street,  which,  stretching  in  a  straight  line  on 
the  other  side,  was  now  darkened  with  the  threatening  masses  of 
the  foe.  Directly  a  column  was  seen  to  unwind  itself  from  the  main 
body,  and  with  fifers  playing  gaily,  to  advance  steadily  towards  the 
passage.  The  Americans  gazed  in  silent  suspense,  as  the  head  of 
the  long  extended  column  approached  them,  its  other  extremity 
continuing  to  evolve  itself  from  the  apparently  inexhaustible  mass 
behind.  They  were  still  confounded  at  the  endless  numbers  they 
displayed,  when  the  front  of  the  enemy,  arriving  within  sixty  yards 
of  the  bridge,  raised  a  shout,  and  rushed  forward.  Instantly  the 
defenders  opened  their  batteries,  all  uniting  in  a  concentric  fire  on 
the  bridge.  For  a  few  seconds,  the  roar  of  artillery  and  musketry 
was  terrific.  Incessant  discharges  of  grape  swept  the  narrow  pas- 
sage, and  ploughed  up  the  planks  of  the  foot-path ;  while  the 
crashing  of  bullets  on  the  solid  masses  of  the  foe,  smote  the  ear  like 
the  shattering  of  glass  in  a  hail-storm.  Unappalled,  however,  by 
the  awful  carnage,  the  British  pressed  steadily  forward;  they 
reached  the  bridge,  they  rushed  upon  it,  they  even  got  half  way 
across.  The  appalled  Americans  saw,  through  the  smoke,  the 
bayonets  of  their  foes  glistening  on  the  hither  side  of  the  causeway. 
At  the  sight  they  redoubled  their  exertions.  The  earth  now  quaked 
under  the  rapid  discharges  of  the  artillery,  and  the  old  mill  rocked, 
enveloped  in  sheets  of  fire.  Drifts  of  fiery  spray  hissed  over  the 
bridge,  gust  following  gust  without  the  intermission  of  a  second, 
until  the  head  of  the  British  column  melted  away  in  the  tempest. 
Yet  still  the  rear  ranks  pressed  on.  And  still  the  front  files,  as  they 
came  within  that  magic  circle,  disappeared,  like  snow-flakes  driven 
into  the  mouth  of  a  furnace.  Soon  a  pile  of  almost  impassible  dead 
blocked  up  the  passage.  Yet  those  behind  continued  to  urge  on 
those  before,  till,  notwithstanding  the  immense  weight  of  the  mass 
thus  pressing  from  the  rear,  the  head  of  the  column  moved  slower 
and  slower,  retarded  by  the  bodies  of  the  slain,  and  by  the  rushing 
of  that  terrible  blast.  In  vafn  they  placed  shoulder  to  shoulder, 
and  stooping  their  heads,  strove  to  bear  down  the  tempest  with  their 
solid  masses  :  tearing  and  splitting  wherever  it  came,  it  riddled  their 
ranks  through  and  through,  and  prostrated  them  before  it.  At  last 
human  courage  could  endure  it  no  longer.  With  a  wild  cry  of 
horror  the  British  broke  and  fled. 

Not  a  shout  had  been  heard  in  the  American  ranks  while  the 
struggle  continued ;  but  now  a  simultaneous  cheer  arose,  and  rolling 


196  THE    HEROES    OF    THE    REVOLUTION. 

down  the  line,  which  extended  for  a  mile,  was  echoed  back  from 
the  extreme  left,  far  out  of  sight.  A  few  minutes  of  breathless  sus- 
pense ensued,  at  the  end  of  which,  the  British,  having  rallied,  were 
seen  again  advancing.  They  were  met,  a  second  time,  by  that 
withering  fire ;  and,  a  second  time,  triumphantly  repelled.  Again 
that  shout  rose  from  the  Americans  defending  the  bridge,  and  was 
replied  to  by  their  companions  far  along  that  winding  stream.  A  third 
time  the  enemy  attempted  to  carry  the  passage  ;  a  third  time  they 
were  hurled  triumphantly  back :  a  third  time  that  rejoicing  huzza 
traversed  the  line,  till  the  shores  of  the  distant  Delaware  trembled  in 
the  concussion.  The  English  returned  no  more  to  the  charge  after 
this ;  but,  drawing  off  their  shattered  ranks,  reserved  their  further 
trials  for  the  morrow.  Night  soon  fell  upon  the  bloody  scene,  and  con- 
cealed the  heaps  of  dead  and  wounded  that  choked  up  the  bridge. 
The  houses  on  the  opposite  bank  grew  darker  and  more  obscure : 
the  trees,  standing  leafless  and  frozen  in  the  twilight,  changed  to 
fantastic  shapes,  and  finally  disappeared ;  and  the  deep  gloom  of 
a  winter  evening  threw  its  mantle  of  silence  around  the  landscape. 
Lights,  however,  flashed  up  and  down  in  Trenton,  and  the  low  hum 
of  the  British  army  rose  on  the  air.  On  the  American  side  there  was, 
for  a  while,  equal  silence  and  darkness.  But,  as  the  twilight  deepened, 
the  enemy  heard  the  sound  of  spades  as  if  busy  at  entrenching  in  the 
rebel  camp,  while  watch-fire  after  watch-fire  started  into  sight,  until 
the  whole  line,  like  some  vast  electric  chain,  brightened  with  the 
conflagration.  Cornwallis  gazed  with  secret  exultation  at  this  spec- 
tacle, which  assured  him  that  the  Americans  would  await  him  on 
the  morrow  ;  and,  confident  in  his  overwhelming  forces,  for  large 
re-inforcements  from  Brunswick  were  expected  before  morning,  he 
retired  to  his  tent  to  dream  of  victory,  and  of  new  honors  bestowed 
by  the  hand  of  a  grateful  sovereign. 

But  it  was  not  Washington's  intention  to  allow  his  enemy  this 
triumph.  Satisfied  that  he  could  not  hold  his  present  position 
against  the  overwhelming  masses  that,  on  the  morrow,  would  be 
precipitated  against  it,  he  resolved  to  abandon  his  ground.  A  hasty 
council  of  officers  was  called,  at  the  quarters  of  St.  Clair.  No 
authentic  memorial  is  preserved  of  the  deliberations  of  this  meeting ; 
but  tradition  assigns  to  Washington  the  suggestion  of  the  bold  plan 
which  he  ultimately  adopted,  and  in  which,  it  is  understood,  only 
Greene  and  Knox  at  first  concurred.  This  plan  was  to  move  boldly 
on  the  enemy's  rear,  by  way  of  Princeton,  and  cut  off  his  communi- 
cations. Accordingly,  about  midnight,  the  army  was  put  in 
motion,  sentinels  being  left  to  keep  guard  through  the  night,  and  a 


GEORGE    WASHINGTON.  197 

party  sent  to  the  front  to  work  noisily  at  digging  trenches.  The  day 
had  been  comparatively  mild,  so  that  the  roads  had  thawed ;  and  it 
was  feared  they  would  now  be  impassible ;  but  the  wind  suddenly 
•shifting  to  the  north,  the  cold  soon  became  intense,  and  the  highway, 
though  rough,  was  frozen  hard.  Following  the  east  bank  of  the 
Assunpink,  Washington  silently  drew  off  towards  Princeton,  resolv- 
ing to  carry  the  war  into  the  heart  of  the  enemy's  position.  The 


HEAD-QfAHTEBS   AT   MORRISTOWN. 


remainder  of  this  eventful  campaign  may  be  told  in  few  words.  At 
Princeton  he  met  a  detachment  of  the  royal  army,  hastening  to  join 
Cornwallis,  and  a  severe  action  ensued,  which  terminated  victoriously 
for  the  Americans.  Cornwallis,  who  had  retired  to  dream  of  victory, 
was  waked  at  day-break  by  the  firing.  He  instantly  perceived 
that  he  had  been  duped,  and  trembling  for  his  communications,  hur- 
ried back  to  Princeton  in  mortification  and  alarm,  hoping  yet  to 
overtake  Washington  before  he  could  wholly  escape ;  but  the 
American  General  skilfully  eluding  the  pursuit,  drew  off  towards 
Pluckemain,  where,  safe  from  surprise,  he  halted  to  refresh  his  troops, 
worn  down  by  thirty-six  hours  of  incessant  action.  Immediately 
afterwards,  he  took  up  his  winter-quarters  in  the  hilly  region  around 
Morristown.  Cornwallis,  completely  foiled,  fell  back  towards  the 
Raritan,  and  abandoned  all  hopes  of  entrapping  his  wary  antagonist. 
The  result  of  this  splendid  series  of  operations  was,  that,  in  a  short 
time,  not  a  single  regiment  of  the  enemy  remained  in  the  Jerseys, 

K* 


198  THE  HEROES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 

except  at  Brunswick  and  Amboy,  between  which  places  and  New 
York  was  an  open  communication  by  water.  Thus,  when  supposed 
to  be  annihilated,  Washington,  like  the  fabled  genii,  had  suddenly 
risen  up,  saved  Philadelphia,  driven  the  British  from  the  Delaware, 
and  recovered  the  whole  province  of  New  Jersey.  All  this,  too,  he 
did  in  ten  days.  Napoleon's  earlier  campaigns  form  the  only  parallel 
to  it  in  modern  history.  As  Botta,  the  eloquent  Italian  historian  of 
the  war  remarks :  "  Achievements  so  astonishing  gained  for  the 
American  commander  a  very  great  reputation,  and  were  regarded 
with  wonder  by  all  nations,  as  well  as  by  the  Americans.  Every 
one  applauded  the  prudence,  the  firmness,  and  the  daring  of  Wash- 
ington. All  declared  him  the  saviour  of  his  country  :  all  proclaimed 
him  equal  to  the  most  renowned  commanders  of  antiquity." 

We  now  dismiss  the  military  character  of  Washington.  We  have 
thrown  it  thus  prominently  into  the  fore-ground,  and  examined  it  in 
such  detail,  in  consequence  of  the  almost  universal  misapprehension 
which  exists  with  regard  to  it.  We  have  wished  to  shew  that  he 
was  a  great  General  as  well  as  a  pure  patriot :  that  his  intellectual 
qualities  and  his  moral  ones  were  equally  harmonious  and  high. 
His  consummate  judgment ;  his  iron  will ;  his  daring  ;  his  courage  ; 
his  discernment  of  character ;  and  his  skill  in  tactics  and  strategy, 
are  all  ingredients  which  go  to  make  up  the  perfect  whole  of  his 
military  character.  These  we  have  considered.  His  love  of  coun- 
try, his  sense  of  duty,  and  his  lofty  and  incorruptible  principles  are 
the  elements  which  constitute  his  moral  character.  The  combination 
of  the  first  produced  the  great  General :  the  union  of  these  last 
resulted  in  the  good  man.  The  one  gave  him  the  means,  the  other 
afforded  the  motive  to  play  the  part  he  did  in  achieving  our  inde- 
pendence. The  military  leader  we  have  already  described :  it  only 
remains  for  us  to  paint  the  patriot  and  hero. 

As  A  PATRIOT  Washington  was  pure  and  unselfish.  On  the  one 
hand,  he  was  not  actuated  by  any  ambitious  motives  of  personal 
distinction,  nor  on  the  other,  restrained  by  any  fear  of  obloquy  or 
danger.  It  is  unquestionable  that  there  were  many  men  taking  part 
in  the  revolutionary  struggle,  who  were  guided  chiefly  by  a  thirst 
to  lead — an  insane  longing  after  notoriety  or  power.  Such  a  man 
was  Lee.  There  were  others,  who,  while  good  patriots  in  the  main, 
yet  suffered  unworthy  motives  of  personal  advancement  to  regulate 
their  conduct :  men  who,  when  all  went  prosperously,  were  valuable 
auxiliaries ;  but  when  disasters  thickened,  and  the  scaffold  loomed 
up  threateningly  close  at  hand,  began  to  tremble,  if  not  for  them- 
selves, at  least  for  their  families.  Washington  had  none  of  this 


GEORGE    WASHINGTON.  199 

timorous,  half-repenting  feeling.  He  loved  his  country  with  no 
common  sentiment,  but  with  that  depth  and  earnestness  which  charac- 
terized him  in  all  things.  He  had  little  to  gain  by  the  war,  and 
everything  to  lose.  His  estate  was  one  of  the  best  in  the  provinces ; 
his  reputation  was  sufficient  for  his  ambition;  with  his  love  of 
domestic  quiet,  the  command  of  the  army,  involving  such  perplex- 
ities and  perils,  was  no  temptation.  But  he  believed  his  country 
had  been  wronged,  and  he  had  the  spirit  to  resent  it.  He  foresaw 
the  long  and  bitter  war.  "  Give  me  leave  to  add,  as  my  opinion," 
he  wrote  in  1774,  "that  more  blood  will  be  spilled  on  this  occasion, 
if  the  ministry  are  determined  to  push  matters  to  extremity,  than 
history  has  ever  yet  furnished  in  the  annals  of  America."  Yet, 
with  this  knowledge  before  him,  he  did  not  hesitate.  It  is  a  mis- 
take, as  some  have  supposed,  that  Washington  was  for  conciliation. 
In  the  first  Congress  he  asserted  the  necessity  of  war.  He  voted 
afterwards,  in  the  Virginia  Convention,  in  favor  of  Patrick  Henry's 
celebrated  resolutions,  to  enrol,  arm  and  discipline  the  militia  ;  and 
we  can  fancy  we  see  his  fine  form  dilating  to  its  loftiest  height,  as 
he  listened  breathlessly  to  the  fervid  oratory  of  the  speaker.  "  We 
must  fight.  I  repeat  it,  sir,  we  must  fight,"  said  Henry.  "An 
appeal  to  arms,  and  to  the  God  of  hosts,  is  all  that  is  left  us." 

It  was  his  high  sense  of  duty,  no  meaner  motive,  which  led 
Washington  to  accept  the  command  of  the  army.     He  would  have 
fought  in  an  humbler  capacity  if  necessary.     In  1775,  he  writes,  in 
reference   to  an  independent  company,  £t  I  shall  very   cheerfully 
accept  the  honor  of  commanding  it,  if  occasion  require  it  to  be  drawn 
out,  as  it  is  my  full  intention  to  devote  my  life  and  fortune  in  the 
cause  we  are  engaged  in,  if  needful."     When  he  was  chosen  gene- 
ralissimo, if  he  hesitated  at  all,  it  was  from  a  consciousness  of  the 
magnitude  and  responsibility  of  the  office.     He  wrote  home  to  his 
wife,  "so  far  from  seeking  this  appointment,  I  have  used  every 
endeavor  in  my  power  to  avoid  it."     A  few  months  later,  he  writes 
to  a  friend,  "  my  situation  is  so  irksome  to  me,  at  times,  that,  if  I 
did  not  consult  the  public  good  more  than  my  sense  of  tranquillity, 
I  should  long  ere  this  have  put  everything  at  the  hazard  of  a  die." 
When,  on  the  evacuation  of  Boston,  the  Massachusetts  Legislature 
testified  their  respect  and  attachment  by  an  address,  he  replied  that 
he  had  only  done  his  duty,  "  wishing  for  no  other  reward  than  that 
arising  from  a  conscientious  discharge  of  his  important  trust" 
Throughout  the  whole  war,  his  conduct  exhibited  him  in  the  same 
light.     It  was  not  merely  in  words  that  he  sacrificed  on  the  altar  of 
duty :  «  whatever  his  hand  found  to  do,  that  he  did  with  all  his 
might." 


THE  HEROES  OP  THE  REVOLUTION. 

His  equal  mind  was  especially  conspicuous.  He  seemed  to  tower 
above  the  clouds  and  storms  of  the  present,  and  to  live  only  in  the 
loftier  and  serener  atmosphere  of  the  future.  The  misrepresentations 
of  his  character  and  motives,  which  at  one  time  obtained  even  the 
ear  of  Congress,  did  not  destroy  his  equanimity,  or  seduce  him  into 
recrimination.  Other  men,  with  but  half  his  wrongs,  revenged 
themselves  by  deserting  or  betraying  their  country.  But  Washing- 
ton, though  daily  slights  were  put  upon  him,  and  even  the  with- 
drawal of  his  rank  secretly  plotted,  never  allowed  himself  to  swerve 
a  hair's  breadth  from  the  line  of  duty.  Caressed  or  thwarted,  he 
did  his  best  for  his  country.  Like  Luther,  he  could  have  said,  "  this 
is  none  of  my  seeking — the  work  is  upon  me,  and  I  must  go  for 
ward — God  help  me  ! " 

His  conscience  was  ever  his  guide.  He  allowed  no  sinister 
motives  to  actuate  him.  Never,  to  attain  his  ends,  would  he  stoop  to 
unworthy  means.  So  high  was  his  sense  of  virtue,  that  he  could  not 
forgive  subterfuge  or  dishonesty ;  but  the  man  whom  he  detected  in 
such  arts,  at  once,  and  forever  lost  his  confidence.  By  some,  this 
trait  in  his  character  has  been  called  sternness.  It  was  not,  it  was 
justice.  Follies  and  indiscretions,  Washington  could  forgive ;  but 
not  deliberate  and  continued  acts  of  moral  turpitude.  Pity  for  the 
criminal  has,  of  late  years,  supplanted,  to  a  great  extent,  indignation 
at  the  crime  ;  and  we  see  the  consequences  in  the  uncertainty  of  pun- 
ishment, and  in  the  increasing  disorganization  of  society.  To  coun- 
tenance guilt,  through  a  false  clemency,  is  treason  to  honest  men. 
Washington  carried  his  hatred  against  subterfuge  and  dishonesty  to 
such  an  extent,  as  to  abjure,  in  the  ordinary  concerns  of  life,  even 
the  shadow  of  artifice  or  dissimulation.  No  man  was  more  sincere. 
Hence  he  reprobated  the  slightest  departure  from  truth.  A  lie 
roused  all  his  indignation :  deceit  shut  his  soul  against  intimacy. 
He  was  candid  and  faithful  to  his  friends ;  to  his  enemies  cold,  but 
impartial.  Never,  perhaps,  was  there  an  individual  more  deserving 
the  title  of  "  the  just  man." 

One  of  his  most  prominent  traits  was  self-control.  This  was  the 
more  remarkable,  because  naturally  he  possessed  impetuous  passions. 
Some  men,  gifted  with  easy  dispositions,  find  it  no  hard  task  to  be 
impartial,  because  neither  right  nor  wrong  can  make  any  lasting 
impression  on  them :  their  charity,  in  fact,  is  indifference ;  their 
amiability,  coldness  of  heart ;  and  the  whole  merit  of  their  equanim- 
ity, consists  in  incapacity.  Yet  few  individuals  have  made  a  figure 
in  the  world,  unless  originally  possessed  of  high  passions.  Men  of 
the  greatest  force  of  character  are  those  whose  temper,  naturally 


GEORGE    WASHINGTON.  201 

vehement,  has  been  disciplined  and  brought  under  control.  Wash- 
ington was  of  this  description.  Long  and  severe  training  had  made 
him  completely  the  master  of  himself.  He  realized  the  words  of 
the  wise  man : — "  He  that  is  slow  to  anger,  is  better  than  the 
mighty ;  and  he  that  ruleth  his  spirit,  than  he  that  taketh  a  city." 
Washington  seemed,  indeed,  to  exercise  a  control  over  himself  to  a 
degree  denied  to  other  men.  In  situations  the  most  trying  to  the 
temper,  he  retained  an  equanimity  almost  miraculous.  Once  or 
twice  only,  during  the  eight  years  of  the  war,  did  he  give  way  to  his 
passions  in  moments  of  excitement ;  but  on  these  occasions  his  fury 
was  terrible.  At  the  battle  of  Germantown,  and  at  Kipp's  Bay, 
both  times  under  the  same  circumstances  of  mortification  at  the 
unexpected  flight  of  his  soldiers,  he  burst  forth  into  a  scornful  anger, 
withering  to  its  guilty  objects,  attended  with  a  recklessness  as  to  his 
own  life,  which  compelled  his  friends  to  force  him  from  the  field. 

These  were  the  exceptions,  however.  It  is  rare  to  find  him,  even 
in  private  letters  to  his  friends,  giving  way  to  irritation  at  the  con- 
stant annoyances  he  had  to  contend  with,  chiefly  arising  from  the 
contentions  of  his  officers,  or  the  folly,  neglect,  and  suspicions  of  Con- 
gress. We  have  already  alluded  to  his  conduct  during  the  Conway 
cabal,  when  a  powerful  party,  both  military  and  civil,  was  plotting 
his  downfall.  Ordinary  men,  under  such  circumstances,  would  have 
thrown  up  their  commission  in  disgust  or  spleen :  a  Cromwell,  or  a 
Napoleon  would  have  marched  on  Congress,  and  cut  the  Gordian 
knot  with  his  sword.  But  Washington's  sense  of  duty,  his  lofty  and  he- 
roic patriotism,  made  him  abhor  the  remedies,  as  it  exalted  him  above 
the  passions  of  common  humanity.  He  wrote  a  letter,  on  this  occa- 
sion, designed  for  Congress  in  which  he  says  : — "  My  chief  concern 
arises  from  an  apprehension  of  the  dangerous  consequences,  which 
intestine  dissentions  may  produce  to  the  common  cause.  As  I  have 
no  other  view  than  to  promote  the  public  good,  and  am  unambitious 
of  honors  not  founded  in  the  approbation  of  my  country,  I  would 
not  desire,  in  the  least  degree,  to  suppress  a  free  spirit  of  inquiry 
into  any  part  of  my  conduct,  that  even  faction  itself  may  deem 
reprehensible."  After  inviting  an  examination,  he  says : — "  My 
enemies  take  an  ungenerous  advantage  of  me.  They  know  the 
delicacy  of  my  situation,  and  that  motives  of  policy  deprive  me  of 
the  defence  I  might  otherwise  make  against  their  insidious  attacks. 
They  know  I  cannot  combat  their  insinuations,  however  injurious, 
without  disclosing  secrets,  which  it  is  of  the  utmost  moment  to  con- 
ceal. But  why  should  I  expect  to  be  exempt  from  censure,  the 
26 


•202 


THE  HEROES  OP  THE  REVOLUTION. 


WASHINGTON'S  HEID-^IAKTEES  AT  XCWBIBG. 


unfailing  lot  of  an  elevated  situation  ?"  It  is  some  consolation  to 
know  that  Conway,  the  busy  agent  in  this  intrigue,  afterwards,  by 
his  own  accord,  recanted,  and  that  the  prominent  actors  in  it  nearly 
all  fell  into  signal  disgrace,  in  consequence  of  their  own  follies, 
before  the  close  of  the  war. 

There  is  no  single  fact  more  illustrative  of  Washington's  character, 
than  his  answer  to  the  proposition  made  to  him,  in  the  name  of  some 
of  his  officers,  to  assume  the  title  of  king.  It  was  in  the  year  1782,  and 
while  he  was  still  at  the  head  of  his  command.  The  incapacity  of  Con- 
gress had  long  been  apparent :  the  army,  to  a  man,  was  dissatisfied 
with  the  civil  authorities  of  the  country ;  and  even  a  portion  of  the 
citizens,  fond  of  pomp  and  titles,  and  thinking  a  monarchy  safer  than 
a  republic,  secretly  favored  the  measure.  Nor  would  it  have  been 
so  difficult,  as  many  suppose,  for  Washington,  had  he  been  ambitious, 
to  have  obtained  the  crown.  The  people  were  exhausted  with  war. 
There  was  no  force,  in  any  part  of  the  states,  competent  for  resist- 
ance. A  bounty  to  the  troops ;  the  promise  of  immunity  to  the  lories ; 


GEORGE    WASHINGTON.  203 

rank  proffered  to  such  leading  men  as  were  patriots  from  policy  : — 
these  would  have  been  bribes  which,  if  adroitly  administered,  would 
have  betrayed  America,  unless  her  citizens  were  less  selfish  than 
others,  or  than  they  had  proved  themselves  to  be.  It  was  well  for 
the  freedom  of  this  land,  that  a  Washington,  not  a  Cromwell  or  a 
Napoleon,  was  at  the  head  of  the  army.  He  refused  the  boon  at 
once,  and  refused  it  with  indignation  and  horror.  The  act  is  the 
.more  noble  because  it  stands  alone  in  history.  His  indignant  reply, 
dated  Newburg,  22nd  May,  1782,  is  as  follows: 

"  SIR  : — With  a  mixture  of  great  surprise  and  astonishment,  I  have 
read  with  attention  the  sentiments  you  have  submitted  for  my  peru- 
sal. Be  assured,  Sir,  no  occurrence  in  the  course  of  the  war  has 
given  me  more  painful  sensations,  than  your  information  of  there 
being  such  ideas  existing  in  the  army,  as  you  have  expressed,  and  I 
must  view  with  abhorrence  and  reprehend  with  severity.  For  the 
present,  the  communication  of  them  will  rest  in  my  own  bosom, 
unless  some  further  agitation  of  them  shall  make  a  disclosure  neces- 
sary. 

"  I  am  much  at  a  loss  to  conceive  what  part  of  my  conduct  could 
have  given  encouragement  to  an  address,  which  to  me  seems  big 
with  the  greatest  mischiefs  that  can  befall  my  country.  If  I  am  not 
deceived,  in  the  knowledge  of  myself,  you  could  not  have  found  a 
person  to  whom  your  schemes  are  more  disagreeable.  At  the  same 
time,  in  justice  to  my  own  feelings,  I  must  add,  that  no  man  pos- 
sesses a  more  sincere  wish  to  see  ample  justice  done  to  the  army 
than  I  do :  and,  as  far  as  my  powers  and  influence,  in  a  constitutional 
way,  extend,  they  shall  be  employed  to  the  utmost  of  my  abilities  to 
effect  it,  should  there  be  any  occasion.  Let  me  conjure  you,  then, 
if  you  have  any  regard  for  your  country,  concern  for  yourself  or 
posterity,  or  respect  for  me,  to  banish  these  thoughts  from  your 
mind,  and  never  communicate,  as  from  yourself  or  any  one  else,  a 
sentiment  of  a  like  nature. 

"  I  am,  Sir,  &c., 

GEORGE  WASHINGTON." 

After  the  receipt  of  this  letter  nothing  more  was  said  in  relation 
to  the  proposition.  The  effect  of  the  refusal  was  more  potent  than 
it  seemed  at  first.  There  were  many  who  had  secretly  looked  to  a 
monarchy  as  the  form  of  government  under  which  they  could  most 
easily  aggrandize  themselves;  but  not  one  of  these,  after  the  rebuff  from 


204  THE    HEROES    OF    THE    REVOLUTION. 

the  Commander-in-chief,  dared  to  mention  their  designs,  since,  with- 
out him,  all  their  plots  must  fail.  It  is  impossible  to  doubt  that  there 
would  have  been,  at  least,  a  serious  struggle,  perhaps  a  protract- 
ed civil  war,  in  case  Washington  had  acceded  to  the  proposition. 
It  must  not  be  supposed,  because  the  monarchists  kept  silence 
from  that  hour,  that  their  numbers  were  few  or  that  their  de- 
signs were  visionary.  Who  can  tell  the  magnitude  of  the  danger 
we  escaped  ? 

Such  was  Washington.  His  unselfish  love  of  country,  his  stern 
sense  of  duty,  and  his  high  and  incorruptible  principles  rendered  him, 
as  a  patriot,  even  more  superior  than  his  great  military  talents  did, 
as  a  General.  The  union  of  both  made  him  the  saviour  of  his  coun- 
try. It  is  to  his  consummate  judgment  and  his  stern  morality  that 
we  owe  our  success  in  the  war  and  the  subsequent  establishment  of 
our  liberties.  Had  he  suffered  himself  to  be  more  brilliant ;  had  he 
given  way  to  the  natural  impetuosity  of  his  character ;  had  a  false 
love  of  fame  precipitated  him  into  hasty  enterprises,  the  army  might 
have  been  annihilated  and  all  effectual  resistance  put  at  an  end,  in 
the  first  years  of  the  war.  But,  contrary  to  the  bent  of  his  genius, 
he  adopted  a  line  of  cautious  policy,  until  an  army  had  been  organ- 
ized fit  to  cope  with  the  veterans  of  England.  Few  men  would  have 
had  the  courage  to  adhere  to  a  resolution  like  this,  at  the  sacrifice, 
for  years,  of  his  personal  fame.  Both  Congress  and  the  people, 
dazzled  by  the  capture  of  Burgoyne,  drew,  at  one  time,  invidious 
comparisons  between  Washington  and  Gates,  and  hesitated  not  to 
charge  the  former  with  inactivity,  if  not  with  incompetency :  but, 
firm  in  consciousness  of  right,  the  American  commander  never 
wavered,  and  thus  was  the  salvation  of  the  war.  To  a  certain  ex- 
tent, even  yet,  he  suffers  for  his  wisdom ;  and  is  depreciated  as  a 
military  commander  in  exact  proportion  as  his  virtue  is  extolled. 
Let  tardy  justice  be  done  him  !  Washington  was  not  less  superior 
as  a  General  than  exalted  as  a  patriot.  His  letters,  written  during 
the  war,  when  compared  with  those  of  others  shew  a  wonderful 
contrast,  in  the  absence  of  that  envy  and  party  strife,  the  presence 
of  which,  more  or  less,  characterizes  the  correspondence  of  his  con- 
temporaries. The  singular  breadth  and  comprehensiveness  of  his 
views  will  startle  the  reader  continually;  and  the  conclusion  be  irre- 
sistibly drawn,  that  no  other  man  could  have  carried  the  country 
through  the  war.  One  fact  has  never  been  presented  in  a  sufficiently 
forcible  light:  we  mean,  that  Congress,  whenever  refusing  the  advice 
of  Washington,  always  went  wrong,  and  had  eventually  to  retrace 


GEORGE    WASHINGTON.  205 

its  steps*     In  a  word,  the  whole  burden  of  the  war  lay  on  his  shoul- 
ders.    Nobly  and  triumphantly  did  he  bear  it  through  ! 

We  come  last  to  consider  Washington  as  THE  HERO.  It  has  been 
well  said  that  the  great  intellect  dies  with  its  possessor,  but  that  the 
great  heart  survives  forever,  beckoning  kindred  natures  to  deeds  of 
heroic  trust  and  self-sacrifice.  The  names  of  Alexander,  Caesar,  and 
of  all  earth's  conquerors,  do  but  dazzle  the  imagination ;  but  Leonidas, 
and  Tell,  and  Bruce,  are  talismanic  words  that  will  kindle  enthu- 
siasm forever.  We  can  well  believe  that  the  thought  of  these  im- 
mortal patriots  was  in  many  a  brave  heart  that  went  up  to  Bunker 
Hill.  The  heroes  and  martyrs  of  all  ages ;  how  the  blood  leaps  at 
mention  of  their  names !  Wallace  and  Kosciuszko ;  Latimer  and 
Xavier ;  those  who  perished  for  liberty,  and  those  who  died  for  con- 
science— will  not  their  services  be  consecrated,  in  all  true  bosoms, 
until  earth  shall  be  no  more  ?  Some  have  sunk  on  the  battle-field ; 
some  have  watered  the  scaffold  with  their  blood ;  some  have  perish- 
ed in  the  agonies  of  fire ;  some  have  drawn  their  last  breath  on 
distant  and  savage  coasts :  these  have  been  of  one  race  and  language, 
those  of  another :  this  endured  all  things  for  one  faith,  that  for  a  dif- 
ferent : — but  all,  whatever  their  nation,  or  sect,  or  lineage,  were  the 
warriors  of  humanity,  and  suffered  that  mankind  might  be  free.  The 
good  of  all  eras  form  but  one  great  brotherhood.  Our  hearts  yearn 
towards  the  martyrs  and  heroes  of  the  past  as  towards  dear  kinsmen, 
long  known  and  beloved.  Thank  God,  for  having  thus  linked  dis- 
tant ages  together  by  the  ties  of  one  common  sympathy.  The  great 
souls  scattered  along  the  highway  of  history,  are  connected  one  to 
the  other  by  an  electric  chain,  and  thus  the  influence  of  heroic 
deeds  thrills  from  century  to  century,  down  the  long  avenue  of 
Time ! 

Washington,  above  all  others,  is  the  hero  of  America  !  In  the  long 
catalogue  of  the  great  and  good  no  other  name,  perhaps,  will  ever 
rival  his.  If  this  confederacy  should  achieve  but  half  the  destinies 
apparently  opening  before  it,  he  will  descend  to  future  ages  as  the 
founder  of  the  mightiest  republic  the  world  has  seen.  What  a  des- 
tiny is  that  of  our  country !  With  great  capacity  for  social  and 
material  development;  with  institutions  more  free  than  those  of  any 
preceding  nation ;  with  a  race  of  people  surpassed  by  no  other  of 
the  Caucasian  tribes ;  and  with  a  land  whose  boundless  vallies  and 
gigantic  rivers  reflect  a  portion  of  their  own  immensity  upon  the 
national  mind,  the  career  of  the  United  States  promises,  like  the 
eagle  it  has  chosen  for  an  emblem,  to  be  onward  and  upward,  until 

s 


206 


THE  HEROES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 


the  imagination,  bewildered,  shrinks  from  following  its  flight !  It  is 
as  the  hero  and  founder  of  this  republic  that  Washington  will  be 
reverenced  by  future  times. 


"One  of  the  few,  the  immortal  names, 
That  were  not  born  to  die." 


JOSEPH  WARREN. 

HERE  are  three  classes 
of  men,  who,  in  revo- 
lutions, rise  to  the  sur- 
face of  affairs.  The 
first  is  composed  of 
the  ordinary  military 
Generals.  These  are 
usually  persons  of  great 
physical  courage,  more 
or  less  impetuous  m 
their  characters,  capa- 
ble of  bold  and  sudden 
enterprises,  yet  without  the  far-reaching  views  that  perceive  and 
prepare  to  avert  danger  long  before  the  crisis.  Such  men,  even  in 
the  army,  fill  secondary  places,  requiring  to  be  directed  by  more 
comprehensive  intellects.  Murat  is  a  case  in  point.  Wayne,  Put- 
nam, Morgan,  and  others  of  our  revolutionary  heroes,  answer  to  this 
description. 

There  is  a  second  class,  the  members  of  which  possess  even  greater 
merit,  though,  as  their  career  is  less  dazzling,  they  rank  below  mill 

207 


208  THE  HEROES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 

tary  leaders  in  popular  estimation.  We  allude  to  the  men  of  thought, 
the  distinguished  civilians  of  their  day,  whose  prescient  knowledge 
sees  the  tempest  in  the  cloud  no  bigger  than  a  man's  hand.  The 
orators,  pamphleteers,  and  legislators,  who  rouse  the  people  to  a 
sense  of  their  rights,  and  who  hazard  in  so  doing  all  the  penalties 
of  treason,  have  not  less  courage,  though  of  a  different  kind  perhaps, 
than  the  soldier  who  charges  to  the  cannon's  mouth.  To  control 
with  a  firm  hand  the  ship  of  state,  when  she  rocks  on  the  edge  of 
the  revolutionary  whirlpool,  requires  great  nerve,  as  well  as  intellec- 
tual ability  Who  will  venture  to  place  Adams,  Jay  and  Jefferson 
in  a  lower  scale  than  Clinton,  Marion,  or  Stark  ?  The  former  faced 
death  in  his  most  terrible  form,  the  axe,  the  gibbet,  the  grinning 
crowd :  the  others  defied  him  on  the  field  of  battle,  with  the  enthu- 
siasm of  the  strife  to  cheer  them  on.  These  had  in  prospect  an 
ignominious  execution  in  case  of  failure  :  those,  the  immortal  glory 
of  the  hero  dying  on  the  battle-field. 

There  is  still  a  third  class.  This  is  composed  of  the  men  who  in 
revolutionary  times  rise  to  the  supreme  direction  of  affairs,  both  civil 
and  military.  Such  individuals  combine  the  qualities  which  are  most 
prominent  in  both  the  other  classes,  possessing  the  comprehensive 
and  prescient  intellect  of  the  one  united  to  the  impetuosity  and  light- 
ning-like decision  of  the  other.  They  are  prudent  as  well  as  daring ; 
wise,  but  also  impetuous.  They  govern  the  popular  mind,  yet  at  the 
same  time  lead  armies.  They  are  pre-eminent  in  all  things — now 
counselling  in  the  Senate,  now  thundering  in  the  front  of  war.  Of 
this  class  were  Cromwell,  Napoleon  and  Washington. 

Warren,  the  subject  of  our  present  notice,  belonged  properly  to 
the  second  of  these  classes,  though  he  possessed  many  characteristics 
which  allied  him  also  to  the  first.  He  was  born  at  Roxbury,  Mas- 
sachusetts, in  1741.  His  father  was  chiefly  employed  in  the  culti- 
vation of  land,  and  particularly  in  raising  fruit ;  and  came  to  his 
death,  when  his  son  was  still  a  child,  by  falling  from  an  apple  tree. 
The  subject  of  our  memoir  entered  Harvard  University  at  fourteen 
years  of  age.  Here  he  became  remarked  as  a  young  man  of  supe- 
rior abilities,  gentle  manners,  and  a  frank,  independent  and  fearless 
character.  Even  at  this  early  age  he  was  celebrated  for  his  daring 
courage.  An  anecdote,  illustrative  of  this,  yet  survives.  A  college 
frolic  was  in  contemplation,  of  which  it  was  known  Warren  did  not 
approve,  and  fearing  the  effect  of  his  example  and  eloquence,  the 
leaders  in  the  disturbance  resolved  to  exclude  him  from  their  delibe- 
rations. But  Warren  was  riot  to  be  frustrated.  The  assembly  was 
held  in  a  room  in  an  upper  story,  and  the  door  locked ;  yet  Warren, 


JOSEPH    WARREN.  209 

ascending  to  the  roof,  clambered  down  the  spout,  and  sprang  in  at 
the  window.  The  instant  he  was  safe  on  the  sill,  the  spout,  which 
was  old  and  decayed,  fell,  with  a  crash,  to  the  ground.  "  It  has 
served  my  purpose,"  quietly  said  Warren,  and  immediately  pro- 
ceeded to  the  subject  in  debate.  Such  cool  self-possession  foresha- 
dowed future  greatness.  Already  indeed  had  he  begun  to  exhibit 
that  rare  union  of  valor  and  discretion  which  distinguished  him  in 
after  life,  and  which,  had  he  lived,  might  have  elevated  him  to  a 
position  second  only  to  that  of  Washington. 

In  1764,  Warren  established  himself  in  Boston  as  a  physician.  His 
engaging  manners  and  his  amiable  character,  not  less  than  his  talents 
and  his  acquirements,  opened  before  him  an  easy  path  to  eminence 
and  wealth.  But  troublous  times  were  approaching;  the  difficulties 
between  the  colonies  and  mother  country  had  begun ;  and  Warren, 
with  all  the  enthusiasm  of  his  character,  entered  at  once  into  the 
exciting  struggle.  His  boldness  terrified  more  timid  minds.  While 
many  hesitated  between  old  attachments  and  new  acts  of  oppression, 
he  declared  that  all  kinds  of  taxation  without  representation,  were 
tyrannical,  and  as  such  ought  to  be  resisted.  He  publicly  asserted 
his  opinion  that  America  was  able  to  withstand  any  force  that  could 
be  sent  against  her.  Though  one  of  the  youngest,  he  was  soon  one 
of  the  most  influential  leaders  on  the  popular  side.  From  1768,  he 
was  a  member  of  the  secret  council  in  Boston,  which  advised  most 
of  the  earlier  measures  of  resistance.  He  twice  acted  as  the  public 
orator  to  deliver  the  anniversary  address  commemorative  of  the 
massacre  in  King  street.  The  first  address  was  made  in  1772  :  the 
last  took  place  three  years  later.  On  this  occasion,  the  mutual  ex- 
asperation between  the  troops  arid  citizens  was  such  as  to  render  the 
post  of  the  orator  of  the  day  a  perilous  one  ;  and  Warren,  finding 
others  shrank  from  the  duty,  boldly  volunteered  to  perform  it.  In 
executing  his  task,  however,  he  acted  with  as  much  discretion  as 
boldness.  Says  Everett,  who  narrates  this  circumstance,  "  When 
the  day  arrived,  the  aisles  of  the  church,  the  pulpit  stairs,  the  pulpit 
itself,  was  occupied  by  the  officers  and  soldiers  of  the  garrison,  who 
were  doubtless  stationed  there  to  overawe  the  orator,  and,  perhaps, 
prevent  him,  by  force,  from  proceeding.  Warren,  to  avoid,  interrup- 
tian  and  confusion,  entered  from  the  rear,  by  the  pulpit  window ; 
and,  unmoved  by  the  hostile  military  array  that  surrounded  him  and 
pressed  upon  his  person,  delivered  the  bold,  stirring  address  which 
we  have  in  print.  While  the  oration  was  in  progress,  an  officer,  who 
was  seated  on  the  pulpit  stairs,  held  up  one  of  his  hands,  in  view  of 
the  orator,  with  several  pistol  bullets  on  the  open  palm.  Warren 
27  s* 


210  THE  HEROES  OP  THE  REVOLUTION. 

observed  the  action,  and,  without  discontinuing  his  discourse,  drop- 
ped a  white  handkerchief  on  the  officer's  hand.  How  happy  would 
it  have  been,"  continues  the  biographer, "  if  this  gentle  and  graceful 
admonition  could  have  arrested  the  march  of  violence." 

This  little  incident  furnishes  the  key  to  Warren's  character.  Though 
in  action  bold  to  rashness,  in  council  he  was  circumspect  to  a  fault. 
Hence  his  influence  over  his  fellow  laborers.  His  judgment  rarely 
erred.  The  wisdom  of  his  counsel  was  always  acknowledged,  and  has 
come  down  to  our  own  times  as  a  tradition  of  something  pre-eminent. 
On  the  abolition  of  the  old  royal  Assembly,  and  the  substitution  for 
it  of  a  provincial  Congress  in  1774,  the  estimation  in  which  Warren 
was  held  by  his  fellow  citizens  became  at  once  apparent.  He  was 
elected  a  delegate  to  the  Congress,  and  on  its  organization  made 
President.  The  executive  power  of  the  state,  under  this  new  ar- 
rangement, was  wielded  by  a  committee  of  thirteen,  Chosen  from 
the  Congress,  entitled  the  Committee  of  Public  Safety.  Of  this  War- 
ren was  elected  Chairman.  Thus,  in  comparative  youth,  he  became, 
in  reality,  the  chief  magistrate  of  Massachusetts.  He  was  now,  in 
fact,  a  sort  of  popular  dictator,  uniting  in  his  person  the  whole  civil 
and  military  power  of  the  state.  Every  eye  looked  to  him  as  to  the 
pilot  who  should  direct  them  in  the  approaching  storm.  Nor  was 
he  dismayed.  Calm  and  high,  he  stood  at  the  helm,  watching  the 
coming  up  of  that  ominous  tempest ;  and  when  the  hurricane  was 
about  to  burst,  his  voice  was  heard  giving  the  first  intimation  of  the 
peril.  To  him  must  be  awarded  the  merit  of  setting  the  ball  of  revo- 
lution in  motion.  He  prepared  the  people  for  the  event,  he  originated 
the  rising,  he  fought  in  the  fray.  Warren  was  the  true  hero  of 
Lexington. 

For  many  months  the  popular  and  the  royal  parties  had  been 
growing  more  and  more  exasperated  against  each  other.  Men  could 
see  that  a  great  crisis  was  approaching.  Not  only  in  New  England, 
but  throughout  all  the  colonies,  the  symptoms  of  alienation  and 
hatred  increased  daily.  A  continental  Congress  had  assembled  at 
Philadelphia,  and  though,  in  their  public  documents,  the  members 
still  breathed  peace  and  allegiance,  their  private  fears  pointed  to-ga, 
war  as  nearly  inevitable.  It  needed  only  a  spark  to  set  them  in 
a  blaze.  This  was  evident  from  the  manner  in  which  a  rumor  of 
the  bombardment  of  Boston  was  received  :  the  members  started  to 
their  feet,  and  the  cry  to  arms  resounded  through  the  house ;  nor 
was  it  until  the  report  had  been  proved  untrue,  that  the  excitement 
could  be  allayed.  The  whole  nation,  at  this  crisis,  was  in  a  state  of 
alarm  and  foreboding  scarcely  to  be  comprehended.  The  thoughts 


M 

"•*• 

T* 


JOSEPH    WARREN.  211 

of  men  everywhere  were  unsettled.  Wild  rumors  awoke,  no  one 
knew  whence,  to  die  as  strangely ;  and  without  any  definite  fears, 
all  felt  vague  presentiments. 

Few  as  yet,  even  in  New  England,  spoke  openly  of  war.  Warren 
himself  said  that,  on  the  night  preceding  the  outrage  at  Lexington, 
he  did  not  believe  fifty  men  in  the  whole  colony  thought  there  would 
ever  be  blood  shed  in  the  quarrel.  Preparations  for  a  contest, 
nevertheless,  went  on.  John  Adams  wrote  home  from  Congress  to 
train  the  people  twice  a  week.  The  population  was  formed  into 
companies,  under  regularly  appointed  officers,  with  orders  to  be  in 
readiness  to  march  at  a  moment's  warning.  The  public  stores  were 
everywhere  seized.  But  even  the  few  who  wished  for  war  and 
regarded  it  as  inevitable,  exhorted  to  present  moderation,  hoping,  as 
the  end  proved,  to  throw  on  the  British  the  odium  of  striking  the 
first  blow. 

Gage,  the  royal  commander,  soon  found  that  he  was  playing  a 
losing  game.  The  time  for  conciliation  was  past.  His  inactivity 
only  allowed  the  colonists  leisure  to  perfect  their  military  arrange- 
ments. He  was,  in  fact,  being  check-mated  without  a  move.  He 
determined,  accordingly,  to  change  his  tactics,  and  arrest  the  prepa- 
rations of  the  patriots.  For  this  purpose  he  planned  the  seizure  of 
some  stores,  which  he  learned  had  been  collected  at  Concord,  New 
Hampshire  ;  but,  in  order  to  avoid  a  collision,  he  concealed  his  object 
even  from  his  own  army,  resolving  to  effect  his  wishes  by  surprise, 
rather  than  by  open  force.  It  was  not  until  the  day  before  the  bat- 
tle of  Lexington,  that  Gage,  calling  together  the  officers  to  whom  he 
intended  entrusting  the  expedition,  informed  them  of  his  purpose . 
and  even  after  the  troops  had  marched,  their  destination  was  con- 
cealed from  the  common  soldiers,  lest  some  treacherous  voice  should 
betray  the  contemplated  movement  to  the  colonists. 

A  suspicion  of  the  enterprise  had  got  abroad,  however,  and  the 
patriots,  with  Warren  at  their  head,  were  actively  on  the  watch. 
A  portion  of  the  stores  was  removed  from  Concord,  and  distributed 
among  the  neighboring  towns.  John  Hancock  and  Samuel  Adams, 
who  had  retired  for  safety  to  Lexington,  were  warned  of  the 
.pproaching  crisis  :  and  lest  messengers  should  be  prevented  leaving 
the  city,  it  was  arranged  with  the  patriots  in  Charlestown,  that  if  the 
expedition  set  out  by  water,  two  lights  should  be  displayed  on  the 
steeple  of  the  North  Church ;  if  it  marched  over  the  Neck,  through 
Roxbury,  only  one.  About  nine  o'clock  on  the  evening  of  the  18th 
of  April,  1775,  the  royal  troops,  about  one  thousand  in  num- 
ber, were  embarked,  under  Colonel  Small,  at  the  bottom  of  the 


212  THE  HEROES  OP  THE  REVOLUTION. 

common.  Warren,  who  had  just  returned  from  West  Cambridge, 
where  he  had  met  the  Committee  of  Safety,  saw  the  embarkation 
in  person ;  and  immediately  despatching  Mr.  Davies  overland  to 
Lexington  to  raise  the  country,  sent  for  his  friend  Colonel  Revere, 
to  induce  him  to  proceed  through  Charlestown  on  the  same  errand. 
Before  eleven  o'clock,  the  Colonel,  having  first  displayed  two  lights 
on  the  steeple  of  the  North  Church,  had  rowed  across  from  the 
upper  part  of  the  city  to  Charlestown,  from  which,  in  the  dead  of 
night,  he  pursued  his  way  through  West  Cambridge  to  Lexington, 
running  in  safety,  the  gauntlet  of  the  British  officers  who  had  been 
stationed,  at  different  points  on  the  road,  to  intercept  messengers 
from  the  town.  It  was  well  that  he  had  not  delayed,  for  after  the 
embarkation  of  the  troops,  Gage,  to  prevent  an  alarm,  had  ordered 
that  no  person  should  be  allowed  to  leave  Boston. 

At  Lexington,  Colonel  Revere  met  Mr.  Davies,  the  other  messen- 
ger, whom,  however,  he  had  anticipated ;  Hancock  and  Adams 
were  warned  to  fly ;  and  together  the  emissaries  galloped  on  towards 
Concord,  rousing  the  population  as  they  went.  In  part,  they  had 
been  anticipated  by  the  signals  on  the  North  Church  steeple.  Lights 
were  flashing  in  the  houses  as  they  passed  ;  the  inhabitants  in  the 
villages  were  seen  collecting :  everything  betokened  the  excitement 
and  enthusiasm  of  a  first  alarm.  All  through  that  April  night  the 
noise  of  hasty  preparation  was  heard.  In  consequence,  before  morn- 
ing, the  militia  along  the  road  were  mostly  in  arms,  and  rapidly 
concentrating  to  resist  the  approaching  invaders.  A  body  of  these 
men  had  already  assembled  on  Lexington  green,  when,  through  the 
grey  of  the  dawn,  the  British  troops  were  seen  suddenly  advancing. 
For  a  moment,  the  surprise  was  mutual :  then  Major  Pitcairn  cried 
"  Disperse,  you  rebels,  lay  down  your  arms  and  disperse."  The 
Americans  still  kept  their  ground,  hesitating,  when  Major  Pitcairn 
ordered  the  soldiers  to  fire.  Several  of  the  patriots  fell.  The  resi 
then  dispersed,  returning  a  scattering  volley  as  they  fled  :  and  the 
British,  exulting  in  their  victory,  but  not  without  uneasy  forebodings, 
hurried  forward  to  Concord.  Here  they  found  a  few  colonists,  who 
fled  before  them.  Without  loss  of  time,  they  proceeded  to  destroy 
the  public  stores.  This  task  being  finished,  they  set  out  on  their 
return,  the  more  experienced  of  their  leaders  knowing  well  what 
was  in  store  for  them. 

For  now  the  whole  country  was  in  commotion.  What  followed  was 
rather  a  popular  tumult  than  a  regular  battle.  The  news  of  the  massa- 
cre, as  the  collision  at  Lexington  was  called,  had  spread  through  the 
neighboring  country  with  the  speed  of  lightning.  The  church  bells 


JOSEPH    WARREN.  213 

clamored  from  hill  to  hill.  The  fife  echoed  its  notes  of  shrill  alarm 
in  once  quiet  villages.  The  farmer  left  his  plough  in  the  furrow ; 
the  artizan  hurried  from  his  forge ;  and  even  the  invalid  forgot  his 
pains,  and  calling  for  his  father's  musket,  strove  to  rise  from  his 
couch.  Messengers,  on  fleet  horses,  scoured  the  country,  carrying 
the  intelligence  to  the  remoter  towns.  An  aged  relative  of  the 
writer,  then  in  her  youth,  was  standing  at  her  father's  door  towards 
noon  of  that  celebrated  day.  Suddenly  a  horseman,  his  steed 
covered  with  foam,  crossed  the  crest  of  the  village  hill  ahead.  He 
came  on,  arid  on,  and  on,  waving  his  hat,  amid  clouds  of  rolling 
dust.  The  villagers  rushed  from  their  doors.  All  at  once,  as  he 
drew  near,  he  raised  himself  in  his  stirrups,  and  shouted,  "  the  bat- 
tle 's  begun,  the  battle  's  begun."  Every  one  knew  the  meaning 
of  those  words.  A  long  and  continuous  shout  followed  him  as  he 
dashed  down  the  street  towards  the  village  inn ;  and  when  he  flung 
himself  exhausted  from  his  steed,  a  dozen  men  stepped  forward  to 
carry  the  news  to  the  remoter  towns.  Thus  the  intelligence  was 
passed  from  county  to  county,  until  the  whole  province  shook  in  its 
length  and  breadth  with  the  enthusiasm  of  the  hour. 

At  the  summons,  the  country  rose,  like  a  giant  rending  the  green 
withes  that  bound  him.  The  vague  feeling  of  loyalty,  which  had 
lingered,  like  a  spell,  in  the  bosoms  of  the  people,  was  cast  off,  and 
forever,  as  they  listened  indignantly  to  the  news  of  the  massacre. 
At  once,  every  village  and  farm  house  discharged  its  living  contents 
to  swell  the  tide  of  popular  vengeance  that  begun  to  roar  after  the 
foe.  From  hill  and  valley  ;  from  work-shop  and  closet ;  from  the 
poor  man's  cottage  and  the  rich  man's  hall,  the  avenging  hosts 
poured  forth  to  the  strife,  their  fifes  playing  that  old  Yankee  air 
which  has  led  Americans  so  often  since  to  victory.  They  were  clad 
in  no  flaunting  uniforms,  but  came  as  the  summons  found  them. 
They  bore  no  glittering  arms,  but  only  the  rusty  household  gun. 
Yet  they  burned  with  indomitable  zeal.  And  when,  as  they  reached 
the  elevated  grounds  above  the  Lexington  road,  the  sight  of  the 
retreating  enemy  burst,  for  the  first  time,  upon  them,  their  excite- 
ment became  almost  uncontrollable,  and  long  and  repeated  cheers 
frequently  rent  the  air.  The  blood  kindles  even  now  to  hear  old 
men,  who  fought  there,  recount  that  spectacle  !  The  enemy  were 
in  the  valley  below,  no  longer  the  proud  looking  soldiery  of  the  day 
before,  but  a  crowd  of  weary  and  travel  soiled  fugitives,  evidently 
hurrying  desperately  on.  Clouds  of  dust,  rising  around  them,  con- 
tinually hid  their  ranks  from  sight,  though  occasionally  a  sunbeam 
would  penetrate  the  gloom,  and  their  arms  flash  out  like  a  golden 


214  THE  HEROES  OP  THE  REVOLUTION.  1, 

ripple.  No  inspiring  sound  of  fife  was  heard,  except  at  rare  inter- 
vals, in  those  disordered  ranks  ;  no  glorious  roll  of  drums ;  no  stir- 
ring blast  of  trumpets.  The  exhilaration  of  spirit  was  all  on  the  side 
of  the  colonists.  Dejected  and  crest-fallen,  the  British  hurried  on ; 
exulting  and  triumphant,  the  patriots  pursued.  It  was  as  if  the 
whole  country  had  risen,  with  horn  and  hound,  to  chase  to  his  lair 
some  long  dreaded  wolf,  who  now,  sullen  and  cowed  at  last,  pressed 
desperately  on,  glad  even  to  escape  with  life. 

The  assaults  of  the  colonists  were  not  conducted  after  any  regular 
method :  indeed,  there  was  no  leader  in  the  field  to  direct  and  unite 
their  movements.  They  fought  each  in  his  own  manner,  or  in 
squads,  as  at  Monterey.  Now  a  bold  horseman  would  gallop  up 
within  gun-shot  of  the  fugitives,  and  deliberately  taking  aim,  fire : 
then,  wheeling  his  horse,  would  retire  to  re-load,  when  he  would 
renew  the  attack.  Now  a  few  provincials  would  conceal  themselves 
behind  some  hedge  or  out-house,  on  the  flank  of  the  foe,  and,  as  the 
British  passed,  the  whole  line,  in  succession,  would  blaze  on  the 
enemy.  To  add  to  the  tumult,  the  royal  troops,  in  revenge  for  acts 
like  these,  began  to  fire  the  dwellings  on  their  flank ;  and  frequently 
the  homeless  mother,  with  her  babes,  was  seen  flying,  through  the 
horrors  of  the  battle,  to  seek  shelter  behind  the  hills.  At  this,  the 
exasperation  of  the  colonists  deepened  to  fury.  The  church  bells 
clanged  louder  and  faster.  Those,  who  at  first,  from  age  or  debility, 
had  looked  on  in  quiet,  seized  whatever  offensive  weapon  was 
nearest  to  hand,  and  hurried  to  the  strife.  Old  men  came  running, 
their  white  hairs  streaming  in  the  wind :  boys,  catching  the  enthusi- 
asm of  manhood,  loaded  the  muskets  they  could  scarcely  carry. 
Some  galloped  along  the  highway ;  some  over  the  fields.  Every 
lane  that  debouched  into  the  main-road,  yielded  its  quota  to  the  bat- 
tle. As  the  fugitives  saw  all  this,  as  they  beheld  the  circle  of  their 
foes  narrowing  around  them,  their  hearts  began  to  fail,  and  only  the 
stern  words  of  their  leaders  roused  them  to  hurry  on.  At  times, 
indeed,  stung  to  savage  fury,  they  turned,  gnashing,  but  vainly,  on 
the  foe.  The  roar  of  the  pursuing  multitude  grew  louder  every 
instant.  It  was  no  longer  a  retreat,  it  was  a  flight.  Major  Pitcaim, 
conspicuous  by  his  uniform,  and  alarmed  for  his  life,  abandoned  his 
horse,  and  on  foot,  hid  himself  among  his  men. 

The  British  troops  at  last  reached  Lexington,  where,  fortunately, 
they  met  Lord  Percy,  who  had  hastened  from  Boston,  with  eight  hun- 
dred men,  and  two  pieces  of  cannon,  to  their  relief.  The  united 
force  of  the  royal  troops  was  sufficiently  imposing  to  check  the  pur- 
suit for  a  while :  and  accordingly  a  halt  was  ordered,  in  order  to 


JOSEPH    WARREN.  215 

refresh  the  fugitives,  and  allow  them  to  take  dinner.  But  the  colo- 
nists continued  gathering  in  such  dark  and  ominous  masses  on  the 
elevations  around,  that  before  two  hours  had  elapsed,  Lord  Percy 
thought  it  advisable  to  proceed.  The  moment  he  set  his  troops  in 
motion,  the  assailants,  hovering  on  the  rear  and  flank,  resumed  their 
offensive  operations.  Their  superior  knowledge  of  the  roads  enabled 
them  to  annoy  the  flying  enemy  at  every  turn :  while,  wherever  a 
stone  wall,  or  other  covert  afforded  shelter,  they  lay  in  ambush  with 
their  deadly  rifles.  It  was  at  West  Cambridge,  after  the  junction 
between  Small  and  Lord  Percy,  that  Warren  first  joined  the  fight. 
He  was  at  this  place,  in  attendance  on  the  Committee  of  Safety,  but 
hearing  the  sound  of  the  approaching  battle,  he  rushed  from  the 
Assembly,  seized  a  musket,  and,  in  company  with  General  Heath, 
dashed  into  the  foremost  fray.  No  one,  to  have  seen  him  then, 
would  ever  have  supposed  he  was  so  calm  and  sage  in  council. 
Raging  in  the  very  front  of  the  fight,  his  fine  face  glowing  with 
enthusiasm,  he  became  speedily  a  mark  for  the  enemy's  muskets, 
and  more  than  one  ball  narrowly  missed  him.  At  last  a  bullet,  more 
accurate  than  usual,  cut  off  the  long,  close  curl,  which,  in  the  fashion 
of  the  day,  he  wore  above  his  ear  ;  but  even  this  could  not  intimidate 
him,  or  induce  him  to  expose  his  person  less  rashly ;  he  continued 
thundering  at  the  head  of  the  pursuit,  until  the  enemy  reached 
Charlestown  Neck.  Here  the  chase  was  necessarily  abandoned. 
The  colonists  drew  off:  and  the  British,  fatigued  and  famished, 
threw  themselves  on  the  bare  ground,  on  Bunker  Hill,  where,  pro- 
tected by  the  guns  of  a  royal  frigate,  they  slept  secure.  The  next 
day  they  pursued  their  march  into  Boston. 

Events  now  hurried  after  each  other  in  rapid  succession.  The 
Massachussetts  Congress,  the  very  next  day,  resolved  that  thirty 
thousand  men  were  wanted  for  the  defence  of  New  England  ;  that, 
of  this  number  Massachusetts  would  furnish  thirteen  thousand  six 
hundred,  and  that  the  other  colonies  be  requested  to  supply  the 
balance.  The  same  body  drew  up  regulations  for  this  army,  and 
voted  an  issue  of  paper  money.  The  people  rose  with  alacrity  in 
answer  to  this  call.  The  old  Generals  of  the  French  war  came  forth 
from  their  retreats,  and  hurried  to  join  their  younger  companions  in 
arms.  Putnam  left  his  plough  in  Connecticut,  and  within  twenty- 
four  hours  was  at  Cambridge.  Stark  hastened  down  with  his  New 
Hampshire  volunteers.  Gridley  threw  up  his  pension,  and  joined 
the  patriots.  Before  the  middle  of  June,  an  army  of  fifteen  thousand 
men  had  assembled  around  Boston,  which  they  proceeded  regularly 
to  invest,  establishing  a  line  of  redoubts  from  Cambridge  to  Roxbury , 


%r    '.   ' 

216  THE  HEROES  OP  THE  REVOLUTION. 

a  circuit  of  nearly  twelve  miles.  On  the  21st  of  May,  General  Ward 
had  been  commissioned  as  Commander-in-chief  of  the  Massachusetts 
forces.  He  fixed  his  head-quarters  at  Cambridge.  Putnam,  though 
really  independent  of  him,  tacitly  consented  to  act  as  his  subordinate. 
He  lay,  with  a  portion  of  the  Connecticut  troops,  at  Inman's  farm, 
in  advance  of  the  main  body,  near  the  Charlestown  road.  Brigadier- 
General  Thomas  commanded  at  Roxbury.  Among  the  other  leading 
officers  in  camp,  not  already  mentioned,  were  General  Pomeroy  and 
Colonel  Prescott,  both  heroes  of  the  old  French  war. 

The  concentration  of  the  provincial  army  around  the  peninsula  of 
Boston,  naturally  suggested  to  General  Gage  the  idea  of  occupying 
Charlestown  Heights.  We  shall  explain  the  benefit  of  this  more  fully, 
when  we  come  to  recur  to  the  subject  in  the  life  of  Putnam.  It  was 
instantly  proposed,  in  the  council  of  war,  to  anticipate  General  Gage  ; 
and,  on  this  proposition,  an  animated  debate  ensued.  There  was, 
at  that  time,  only  eleven  barrels  of  powder  in  the  camp,  and  but 
sixty-seven  within  the  state  of  Massachussetts  :  and,  as  the  seizure 
of  Charlestown  Heights  would  probably  bring  on  a  battle,  many 
considered  this  stock  of  ammunition  too  small.  Among  these  was 
Warren.  Putnam  and  Prescott,  but  especially  the  former,  advised 
the  bolder,  not  to  say  less  prudent  plan  :  and  their  arguments  backed 
by  the  influence  of  their  acknowledged  experience,  carried  the  day. 
It  was  fortunate  that,  in  this  solitary  instance,  the  advice  of  Warren 
was  disregarded.  Had  the  attempt  been  postponed,  it  could  never 
have  been  made  at  all ;  and  we  should  thus  have  been  without  one 
of  the  most  glorious  events  in  our  history.  Technically  speaking, 
the  Americans  were  defeated  at  Bunker  Hill,  but  the  defeat  was  of 
such  a  character  as  to  answer  all  the  purposes  of  a  victory.  In 
justice  to  Warren,  we  must  add  that  the  repulse  occurred  from  the 
want  of  powder,  as  he  had  foretold. 

On  the  14th  of  June,  three  days  before  this  remarkable  battle, 
Warren  received  a  commission  as  Major-General  from  the  provin- 
cial Congress.  On  the  16th,  he  was  at  Watertown,  presiding  over 
that  august  body.  The  whole  of  that  night,  the  last  he  was  to  live, 
he  spent  in  transacting  public  business.  At  daylight,  on  the  17th, 
he  rode  to  Cambridge,  where  he  arrived,  suffering  under  a  severe 
head-ache,  which  compelled  him  to  retire  for  repose.  He  was  soon 
awakened,  however,  by  information  that  the  British  were  moving  to 
attack  Bunker  Hill.  He  rose  instantly,  declared  his  head-ache  gone, 
and  hastened  to  the  meeting  of  the  Committee  of  Safety,  of  which 
he  was  Chairman.  Here  he  expressed  his  determination  to  join  per- 
sonally in  the  fight.  He  was  urged  not  to  expose  himself  thus.  "  I 


JOSEPH    WARREX.  217 

know  that  I  may  fall,"  replied  Warren,  "  but  where  is  the  man  who 
does  not  think  it  glorious  and  delightful  to  die  for  his  country." 
When  the  Committee  adjourned,  he  called  for  his  horse,  sprang  into 
the  saddle,  and  galloped  towards  Charlestown.  Both  armies  were 
breathlessly  awaiting  the  signal  for  attack,  when  a  solitary  horseman 
dashed  across  Charlestown  Neck,  regardless  of  the  fire  of  the  shipping 
directed  towards  that  point,  and  was  seen  advancing  at  full  speed 
upon  the  American  lines.  As  he  crossed  Bunker  Hill,  General  Put- 
nam, who  was  there  erecting  a  redoubt,  rode  forward.  "  General 
Warren,"  he  exclaimed, ."  can  this  be  you  ?  I  rejoice  and  regret  to 
see  you.  Your  life  is  too  precious  to  be  exposed  in  this  battle  ;  but 
since  you  are  here,  I  take  your  orders."  "  Not  so,"  replied  Warren, 
"  I  come  only  as  a  volunteer.  Tell  me  where  I  can  be  useful." 
""Go  then  to  the  redoubt,"  said  Putnam,  "you  will  there  be  cov- 
ered." "  I  came  not  to  be  covered,"  answered  Warren,  "  tell  me 
where  the  peril  is — where  the  action  will  be  hottest."  "  To  the 
redoubt  then,"  cried  Putnam,  waving  his  hand.  Warren  dashed 
spurs  into  his  horse's  sides,  and  shot  like  an  arrow,  on  his  way.  He 
sped  down  the  slight  acclivity  of  Bunker's  Hill,  across  the  inter- 
vening depression,  and  up  Breed's  Hill,  where  his  person  was  recog- 
nised with  long  and  loud  huzzas  as  he  galloped  along  the  line.  At 
the  redoubt  he  found  Colonel  Prescott,  before  whom  he  checked 
his  foaming  steed.  The  Colonel  hastened  forward,  and  offered  to 
take  his  orders.  "  No,"  said  Warren,  springing  from  the  saddle, 
"  g^ive  me  yours  :  I  come  as  a  volunteer  ;  give  me  a  musket.  I  am 
here  to  take  a  lesson  of  a  veteran  soidier  in  the  art  of  war." 

The  heroic  character  of  Warren  was  evinced  in  all  his  actions  on 
that  day.  He  had  been  opposed,  us  we  have  seen,  to  the  battle, 
from  motives  of  prudence :  but  the  moment  the  conflict  became  ine- 
vitable, he  dismissed  every  consideration  except  that  of  participating 
in  it  with  glory.  The  time  for  the  exercise  of  discretion  had  passed : 
the  moment  for  valorous  action  had  come.  He  knew  that  much 
depended  on  the  manner  in  which  the  leaders  behaved ;  and  he  was 
resolved  that  no  one  should  say  he  remained  at  home  in  safety,  while 
others  were  bleeding  in  the  fight.  Throughout  the  whole  of  that  day 
he  bore  himself  among  the  bravest — his  voice  and  example  encou- 
raging the  troops.  When  the  retreat  was  ordered,  as  if  loath  to  leave, 
he  lingered  behind.  He  had  been  marked  out  conspicuously  by  his 
conduct,  and  as  he  was  slowly  retiring,  at  the  distance  of  only  a  few 
rods,  an  English  officer  snatched  a  musket  from  a  soldier,  and  taking 
deliberate  aim,  shot  him  through  the  head.  He  fell  weltering  in 
blood.  General  Ho.we,  at  this  time,  was  not  far  off,  leaning  on  the 
arm  of  Colonel  Small,  having  been  lamed  by  a  spent  ball  striking 
28  T 


218 


THE  HEROES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 


his  ankle.  Seeing  Warren  sink  to  the  earth,  he  said  to  Colonel 
Small,  "  Do  you  see  that  elegant  young  man  who  has  just  fallen?" 
"  Good  God,  sir,"  replied  Small, "  I  believe  it  is  my  friend  Warren." 
"  Leave  me,  then,  instantly,"  said  Howe,  "  run — keep  off  the  troops 
— save  him,  if  possible."  Small  flew  to  the  spot.  When  he  arrived, 
a  provincial  was  supporting  Warren's  head.  "  My  dear  friend," 
cried  Small,  kneeling  anxiously  down,  "  I  hope  you  are  not  hurt." 
The  dying  hero  faintly  opened  his  eyes,  looked  up  into  the  speaker's 
face,  and  smiling,  as  if  in  recognition,  died. 

Thus  fell  Warren,  the  first  martyr  of  the  Revolution,  at  the  age  of 
thirty -four.  His  death  was  regarded  as  so  important  that  the  British 
General  considered  the  war  as  virtually  at  an  end  in  consequence. 
Some  writers  have  regretted  that  he  died  prematurely  for  his  fame  ; 
as  he  was  fitted  to  play  a  prominent  part  in  the  drama  just  opening. 
Yet  his  was  a  glorious  death.  His  memory  is  enshrined  in  the  hearts 
of  his  countrymen,  and  history  has  placed  him  among  the  noble 
company  of  patriots  and  martyrs  whose  renown  is  eternal. 

Warren  left  four  children,  two  sons  and  two  daughters :  his  wife 
had  already  preceded  him  to  the  grave.  The  continental  Congress 
took  on  itself  the  education  of  his  eldest  son.  The  other  children, 
were,  for  a  time,  assisted  by  Arnold,  until  Congress  provided  for 
them  also.  The  sons  both  died  soon  after  reaching  the  age  of  maturity. 
The  daughters  married ;  but  one  of  them  only  has  left  posterity. 


ISRAEL   PUTNAM. 


SRAEL  Put- 
nam, a  Major- 
General  in  the 
continental  ar- 
my, was  one  of 


the  most  daring 
spirits  of  the  Re- 
volution. He  had 
not  the  compre- 
hensive mind  re- 
quired for  a  great 
strategist;  but  in 
leading  a  column 
to  the  storm,  or 
in  any  emergen- 
cy requiring  indomitable  valor,  possessed  no  rival.  He  needed  some 
one  to  plan,  but  he  was  a  Paladin  to  execute.  His  name  was  almost 
miraculous.  Other  military  leaders  distinguished  themselves  in  bat- 
tle j  Putnam  was  the  battle  itself. 

219 


220  THE  HEROES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 


, 


Israel  Putnam  was  born  at  Salem,  Massachusetts,  on  the  7th  day 
of  January,  1718.     He  received  but  little  education,  and  displayed 
no  peculiar  taste  for  learning.  He  was  chiefly  remarkable,  as  a  boy, 
for  boldness,  independence  and  courage.     The  first  time  he  visited 
Boston  he  was  jeered  for  his  rusticity  by  a  lad  twice  his  size.     Put- 
nam attacked  and  soundly  threshed  his  insulter.    As  he  grew  up  he 
became  distinguished  for  feats  of  personal  skill  and  strength :  and  in 
leaping,  running  and  wrestling  had  no  superiors.     In  1739,  he  mar- 
ried, and  shortly  after  emigrated  to  Pomfret,  Connecticut,  where  he 
engaged  in  farming,  at  first  under  many  disadvantages,  but  finally 
with  profit.     It  was  about  this  period  that  he  pursued  and  shot,  in 
her  cave,  the  she-wolf  which  had  so  long  been  a  terror  to  the  neigh- 
borhood :  a  story  familiar  to  every  school  boy,  and  which  we  only 
xefer  to  here,  in  order  to  shew  the  adventurous  and  daring  spirit  of 
Putnam.     When  the  French  war  broke  out  his  ardent  genius  found 
vent  in  a  higher  spher£  He  was  appointed  to  command  a  company 
raised  in  Connecticut  in  1755,  to  operate  in  the  expedition  against 
Crown  Point;  and  in  1757,  was  elevated  to  the  rank  of  Major,  his 
services  having  been  considered  so  important  as  to  deserve   this 
compliment.     Numerous  anecdotes  are  told  of  his  presence  of  mind, 
and  romantic  escapes  during  the  several  campaigns  in  which  he  took 
a  part.     It  was  at  Putnam's  side  that  the  lamented  Lord  Howe  fell, 
on  the  6th  of  July,  1758.  On  one  occasion  Putnam  was  captured  by 
the  savages,  who  proceeded,  in  their  inhuman  way,  to  torture  him 
to  death.     He  was  already  stripped  naked  and  tied  to  the  stake ;  t&£ 
fire  had  been  kindled ;  and  the  Indians  were  dancing  and  yelling 
around  in  fiendish  delight,  when  a  French  officer  rushed  in,  scattered 
the  blazing  brands,  and  unbinding  the  victim,  carried  him  in  safety 
to  his  quarters.  He  was  subsequently  conducted  to  Montreal,  where 
he  arrived  almost  without  clothes,  his  body  torn  by  briars,  his  face 
gashed  by  the  tomahawk,  and  his  whole  appearance  miserable  and 
squalid  to  the  last  degree.     Colonel  Peter  Schuyler  was  then  at 
Montreal,  a  prisoner  also.     He  was  indignant  at  this  treatment  to- 
wards Putnam,  clothed  him,  procured  his  reception  as  became  his 
rank,  and  afterwards  obtained  his  exchange. 

In  1759,  Putnam,  who  had  been  raised  to  the  rank  of  Lieutenant- 
Colonel,  accompanied  General  Amherst  ,in  the  latter's  expedition 
against  Ticonderoga  and  Crown  Point.  In  this  campaign  he  proved 
of  the  greatest  service,  by  his  ingenuity  no  less  than  by  his  courage. 
At  one  time  he  proposed  to  reduce  the  enemy's  squadron  on  Lake 
Champlain  by  attacking  each  ship  in  a  batteau,  and  driving  a  wedge 
between  the  rudder  and  stern,  by  which  to  render  the  vessel  unma- 


ISRAEL    PUTNAM. 


221 


RUINS   OF   OLD   FORT   TICONDEROGA 


nageable ;  but,  just  as  the  assault  was  about  to  begin,  the  ships  sur- 
rendered. In  1762,  he  went  to  Cuba,  at  the  head  of  a  regiment,  to 
assist  in  the  attack  on  Havana.  Here  he  was  shipwrecked ;  but, 
through  his  presence  of  mind  the  troops  were  saved.  In  1764,  having 
been  raised  to  the  rank  of  a  Colonel,  he  marched  against  the  western 
•  Indians ;  but  the  campaign  gave  him  no  opportunity  to  signalize 
himself,  and  on  the  treaty  in  the  ensuing  year,  Putnam  returned 
home,  after  having  been  engaged  in  military  life  nearly  ten  years. 

He  carried  with  him  into  his  retirement,  one  of  the  best  reputations 
as  an  officer  in  the  colonies.  He  boasted  little  military  knowledge 
except  such  as  was  the  result  of  experience  ;  but  he  had  ingenuity, 
energy  and  courage,  qualities  which  education  could  not  give.  His 
bravery  was  of  no  common  kind.  The  stormier  the  battle  grew,  the 
,  more  fearless  he  became  :  the  deadlier  the  crisis,  the  cooler  his  self- 
ossession.  It  was  said  of  him  already,  that  he  "dared  to  lead 
where  any  dared  to  follow."  In  no  other  man,  from  his  section  of 
the  provinces,  had  the  soldiers  equal  confidence  in  a  desperate  strife. 
His  towering  form  was  like  a  banner  to  them  through  the  cloud  and 
smoke  of  battle. 

T* 


222  THE  HEROES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 

When  the  difficulties  between  the  mother  country  and  the  colonies 
begun,  Putnam  was  looked  up  to  for  counsel,  and  at  once,  took  sides 
with  the  provinces.  He  was  one  of  the  foremost  actors  in  the  popu- 
lar demonstration  which  compelled  the  collectors  of  stamps,  in  Con- 
necticut, to  relinquish  their  offices.  Throughout  the  whole  affair, 
his  decision  and  energy  were  prominent.  Minds  like  his,  always 
rally  the  masses  around  them  in  threatening  times,  and  each  year 
added  to  the  influence  of  Putnam.  He  frequently  visited  Boston, 
where  he  was  familiarly  known  to  the  royal  officers,  many  of  whom 
had  served  with  him  during  the  French  war.  On  one  occasion,  he 
was  asked  what  he  would  do,  if  the  dispute  should  end  in  hostilities. 
"  I  will  stand  by  my  country,"  stoutly  replied  Putnam.  An  officer 
happening  to  say  triumphantly,  that  an  army  of  five  thousand  vete- 
rans might  march  from  one  end  of  the  continent  to  the  other.  "  No 
doubt,"  replied  Putnam, "  if  they  conducted  themselves  properly,  and 
paid  for  what  they  wanted  :  but,  should  they  attempt  it  in  a  hostile 
manner,  the  American  women  would  brain  them  with  their  ladles." 

Putnam  was  quietly  ploughing  in  his  field,  nearly  a  hundred 
miles  from  the  field  of  Lexington,  when  a  horseman,  carrying  a  drum, 
galloped  up  and  announced  the  news  of  the  massacre.  Instantly  the 
old  hero  was  on  fire.  He  unyoked  his  team,  sprang  on  one  of  the 
horses,  and  telling  his  little  son,  who  was  with  him,  to  go  home  and 
acquaint  Mrs.  Putnam  whither  he  had  gone,  dashed  off  on  the  road 
to  Boston,  where  he  arrived  in  less  than  twenty-four  hours.  On 
the  21st,  two  days  after  the  battle,  he  attended  a  council  of  war  at 
Cambridge  :  then,  at  the  summons  of  the  Legislature  of  Connecticut, 
he  flew  back  to  that  state  ;  and  in  less  than  a  week,  having  raised 
three  thousand  troops,  and  accepted  the  commission  of  Brigadier- 
General,  was  once  more  at  head-quarters,  having  traversed  the 
country,  in  the  discharge  of  his  several  missions,  with  a  rapidity  that 
resembled  that  of  some  wild  meteor.  At  Cambridge,  he  was  first 
in  command  of  the  Connecticut  recruits.  His  position,  when  the 
besieging  army  had  taken  its  ground,  was  in  the  advance  at  Inman's 
Farm,  on  the  Charlestown  road. 

It  was  while  thus  beleaguering  Boston,  that  Putnam  received  the 
offer  of  a  Major-General's  commission,  besides  a  large  pecuniary 
recompense,  provided  he  would  abandon  the  cause  of  the  colonists, 
and  join  the  British  side.  The  bribe  was  indignantly  spurned. 
Meantime  a  month  had  passed  since  the  provincial  army  had  assem- 
bled for  the  siege,  and  nothing  effective  had  been  done,  though 
skirmishes  were  occasionally  occurring  between  detachments  on  both 
sides.  Putnam  became  impatient  for  action.  His  soul  was  one  of 


ISRAEL  PUTNAM.  223 

those  thai  fretted  at  inactivity  :  he  longed  to  strike  some  blow  that 
should  terrify  the  enemy,  and  inspire  the  Americans.  An  opportu- 
nity was  not  long  wanting.  General  Gage,  it  was  discovered  by 
spies,  was  about  to  fortify  the  entrance  to  the  peninsula  of  Charles- 
town  ;  and,  to  prevent  this,  even  at  the  risk  of  a  battle,  at  once 
became  Putnam's  secret  design.  ,  . 

The  peninsula  of  Charlestown  is  rather  more  than  a  mile  in  length, 
from  east  to  west,  and  two-thirds  of  a  mile  in  breadth,  from  north 
to  south.  It  is  washed  on  the  north  by  the  Mystic  River,  and  on 
the  south  by  the  Charles,  the  two  rivers  approaching  within  a  hun- 
dred yards  of  each  other  at  the  neck  of  the  peninsula.  A  narrow 
channel  divides  it  from  Boston,  on  the  east.  Bunker  Hill  begins  at 
the  Neck,  and  rises  to  the  height  of  above  a  hundred  feet  :  then, 
declining  towards  the  east,  runs  along  the  shore  of  the  Mystic,  par- 
allel to  Breed's  Hill.  This  last  begins  near  the  southern  extremity 
of  Bunker,  and  rising  to  the  height  of  eighty-seven  feet,  extends  to 
the  south  and  east,  the  two  summits  being  about  one  hundred  and 
thirty  rods  apart.  To  the  east  and  north  of  Breed's  Hill  the  ground 
was  low  and  marshy.  Charlestown  lay  on  the  south  side  of  the 
hill,  and  had  already  begun  to  extend  up  its  slope.  Morton's  Point, 
where  the  Navy  Yard  now  is,  formed  the  north-eastern  extremity 
of  the  peninsula.  The  peninsula  was  traversed  by  a  road,  which, 
crossing  Bunker  Hill,  swept  around  Breed's,  approaching  very  near 
the  summit  of  the  latter,  on  the  southern  side. 

The  object  of  Gage,  in  seizing  Bunker  Hill,  was  to  fortify  the 
entrance  of  Charlestown  peninsula,  both  for  his  own  security,  and 
as  a  vantage  ground,  from  which  to  dislodge  the  Americans  from 
their  entrenchments.  A  council  of  war  was  called  in  the  provincial 
camp  on  receiving  intelligence  of  his  contemplated  movement. 
Putnam  and  Pomeroy  advocated  the  seizure  of  the  hill,  by  a  portion 
of  their  own  force,  to  prevent  the  English  from  obtaining  it  :  Ward 
and  Warren  opposed  the  measure,  as  calculated  to  bring  on  an 
engagement,  for  which  they  did  not  believe  the  American  army 
prepared.  Their  chief  argument  was  the  scarcity  of  powder. 
But  Putnam  was  anxious  for  a  fight.  The  scene,  in  that  coun- 
cil, was  a  memorable  one.  "We  will  risk  only  two  thousand 
men,"  said  he,  "and  if  driven  to  retreat,  every  stone-wall  shall  ., 
be  lined  with  dead.  If  surrounded,  and  escape  cut  off,  we  shall  / 
set  our  country  an  example  of  which  it  shall  not  be  ashamed, 
and  teach  mercenaries  what  men  can  do,  who  are  determined 
to  live  or  die  free."  At  these  stirring  words,  Warren,  who 
had  been  walking  the  floor,  stopped  and  said,  "  Almost  thou  per- 
suadest  me,  General  Putnam  :  still  the  project  is  rash  ;  yet,  if  you 


t 


224  THE    HEROES    OF   THE    REVOLUTION. 

go,  be  riot  surprised  to  find  me  at  your  side."  "  I  hope  not,"  said 
Putnam,  earnestly,  laying  his  hand  on  his  young  associate's  shoulder, 
"  let  us  who  are  old  and  can  be  spared,  begin  the  fray.  There  will 
be  time  enough  for  you  hereafter,  for  it  will  not  soon  be  over." 
The  bolder  counsel  of  Putnam,  aided  by  his  enthusiasm,  prevailed  ; 
and  when  the  council  broke  up,  it  had  been  resolved  to  seize  and 
fortify  Bunker  Hill. 

It  was  after  twilight,  on  the  16th  of  June.  1775,  that  the  detach- 
ment, selected  for  this  enterprise,  left  Cambridge,  and  took  its  way, 
in  silence  and  darkness,  across  the  Neck  into  the  peninsula.  It  was 
necessary  to  move  with  caution,  for  two  men-of-war  lay  in  Charles 
River,  commanding  the  Neck.  Colonel  Prescott,  who  had  charge 
of  the  expedition,  led  the  way,  attended  by  two  sergeants  carrying 
dark  lanterns.  Arrived  at  Bunker  Hill,  a  consultation  was  held  as 
to  whether  it  would  be  best  to  fortify  that  height,  or  advance  to 
Breed's  Hill,  which  was  nearer  Boston.  It  was  finally  determined 
to  erect  the  principal  works  on  the  latter  place,  and  construct  a 
smaller  redoubt  in  the  rear,  on  Bunker  Hill.  This  resolution  was 
in  consequence  of  Putnam's  counsel,  who,  all  through  the  prelim- 
inary transactions,  evidently  labored  to  render  a  battle  inevitable. 

All  through  that  night  the  provincials  labored  incessantly,  and 
when  morning  broke,  their  work  was  well  advanced.  No  suspicion 
of  what  was  going  on  meantime  had  reached  the  city.  Silence 
reigned  in  the  deserted  streets  of  Boston,  and  the  sentry  >  as  he  went 
his  rounds,  distinguished  no  unusual  noises.  At  last  the  sun,  rising 
through  the  haze  on  the  eastern  horizon,  shot  his  lurid  rays  along 
the  summit  of  Breed's  Hill ;  and  to  the  astonishment  of  the  sentries, 
the  beams  were  reflected  back  from  a  long  line  of  glittering  steel. 
Instantly  the  American  fortification  stood  revealed  !  The  discovery 
was  first  made  on  board  a  British  sloop-of-war,  which  promptly 
fired  an  alarm  gun.  This  was  replied  to  by  the  Somerset  frigate, 
from  the  more  immediate  vicinity  of  the  fortification.  Instantly, 
all  Boston  was  aroused  by  the  unusual  sounds.  The  rumor  of  their 
cause  soon  spread.  The  people  and  soldiery,  crowding  to  the  North 
End,  could  scarcely  believe  what  they  saw,  the  redoubt  and  its  brave 
occupiers  appearing  as  if  they  had  risen  by  enchantment  in  the 
night.  But  the  enemy  lost  no  time  in  idle  wonder.  The  shipping 
at  once  opened  their  fire  on  the  entrenchments,  and  soon  the  battery 
at  Copp's  Hill,  Boston,  began  to  play.  Bornbs  were  seen,  black 
and  threatening,  traversing  the  sky :  shot  richochetted  along  the 
sides  of  Breed's :  and  the  thunder  of  continual  explosions  shook  the 
windows  of  the  city,  and  echoed  oif  among  the  neighboring  hills. 


ISRAEL    PUTNAM.  225 

Putnam  had  left  the  detachment,  immediately  after  midnight,  and 
returned  to  his  quarters ;  but,  at  the  first  sound  of  the  cannon,  he 
galloped  to  the  scene  of  action.  Here,  it  was  proposed  by  some,  to 
send  to  camp  fora  relief;  but  Prescott  urged  that  the  men  who 
raised  the  works  were  best  entitled  to  the  honor  of  defending  them. 
He  consented,  however,  to  despatch  a  messenger  to  General  Ward 
for  refreshments.  Putnam,  perceiving,  from  the  bustle  in  Boston, 
how  imposing  a  force  was  mustering  to  the  attack,  hurried  back  to 
camp,  thinking  his  presence  might  carry  influence  with  it,  and 
begged  the  Commander-in-chief  to  reinforce  the  redoubt.  Bat  Gene- 
ral Ward  was  convinced  that  the  enemy  intended  to  attack  the  main 
army,  and  hence  refused.  He  would  not  even  allow  the  troops  of 
Putnam  to  follow  their  leader.  Putnam  himself,  however,  could  not 
be  restrained.  He  remained  at  Inman's  farm  only  long  enough  to  be 
satisfied  that  the  enemy  did  not  contemplate  a  landing  at  that  posi- 
tion, and  then,  flinging  himself  on  his  horse,  dashed  off  towards 
Bunker  Hill,  his  blood  quickening  as  he  approached  the  scene  of 
action,  and  the  cannonade  seemed  to  grow  louder  and  more  inces- 
sant. 

Putnam  now  labored  to  throw  up  a  redoubt  on  Bunker  Hill, 
while  Prescott,  with  the  larger  detachment,  worked  assiduously  on 
that  at  Breed's.  At  this  latter  place  a  redoubt,  eight  rods  square, 
was  erected ;  while  a  breastwork  extended,  from  its  north-eastern 
angle,  in  a  northerly  direction,  to  the  marshy  ground,  or  slough,  in 
that  quarter.  Just  as  the  battle  was  about  to  begin,  the  American 
line  of  defence,  at  Putnam's  suggestion,  was  extended  from  the 
slough  across  the  ridge  to  the  Mystic  River,  by  the  erection  of  two 
parallel  rail  fences,  filled  up  between  with  new  made  hay.  Mean- 
time, Prescott  applied  again  to  General  Ward  for  reinforcements. 
Putnam,  too,  finding  the  crisis  approaching,  galloped  once  more  to 
head-quarters;  this  time,  it  is  said,  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  for  he  was 
too  excited  to  think  of  his  coat,  which  he  had  cast  off  to  assist  his 
men.  Aid  at  last  was  granted,  the  designs  of  the  enemy  no  longer 
being  doubtful. 

He  was  absent  but  a  short  period,  and  soon  hurried  back  to  Bun- 
ker Hill,  where  he  remained,  busily  animating  the  men.  Prescott, 
in  the  main  fortification,  equally  encouraged  to  assiduity.  The 
redoubt  was  now  nearly  finished.  As  the  provincials  rested  a  mo- 
ment on  their  spades  and  looked  off  towards  the  neighboring  country, 
they  witnessed  a  spectacle  which  fired  each  patriotic  bosom  anew. 
It  was  now  the  height  of  the  summer  solstice.  Far  away,  the  quiet 
farm-houses,  amid  their  waving  fields,  slept  in  the  sultry  noon-tide. 
29 


226  THE  HEROES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 

Here  and  there,  in  the  laps  of  the  hills,  stood  the  white  churches, 
their  spires  peeping  out  above  the  elms  that  shaded  New  England's 
ancestral  graves.  How  peaceful  the  prospect — yet  how  inspiriting  its 
associations  !  Changing  the  direction  of  the  eye,  and  looking  towards 
the  south,  Boston,  with  her  thousand  troops,  was  seen  beneath.  An 
ominous  buzz  floated  up  from  her  streets,  as  if  the  whole  population 
was  in  motion,  above  which  at  intervals  rose  the  blare  of  trumpets, 
the  shriller  note  of  the  fife,  and  the  rumbling  of  artillery  wagons. 
Whole  companies  of  troops  were  already  mustered  along  the  wharves 
as  if  in  readiness  to  be  embarked.  The  cannon,  from  the  shipping, 
thundered  continually. 

This  spectacle  might  have  moved  stouter  hearts,  but  it  struck 
no  terror  to  the  provincials,  who  labored  silently  on.  Noon 
passed,  yet  they  still  toiled  on.  Since  they  had  left  Cambridge 
the  night  before,  not  a  morsel  of  food  had  passed  their  lips ; 
and  now  one  o'clock  was  come ;  yet  they  still  toiled  on.  Shells 
exploded,  and  cannon  balls  ploughed  up  the  earth  around;  yet 
they  toiled  on.  One  of  their  comrades  fell;  they  buried  him 
where  he  died ; — and  toiled  on.  There  was  something  stern  and 
terrible  in  such  demeanor.  No  shouts  rent  the  air ;  no  martial  music 
cheered  their  task ;  no  time-hallowed  banner  waved  above  their 
heads : — there  was  nothing  of  the  usual  accompaniments  of  war  to 
excite  and  madden  their  imaginations  !  But  there  were  other  things 
as  spirit-stirring ;  for,  as  they  looked  off  towards  the  mainland,  they 
could  see  the  dim  walls  of  their  homes;  and  almost  fancy  they  beheld, 
gazing  on,  their  wives,  their  sires,  or  the  mothers  that  gave  them 
milk.  All  over  the  surrounding  hills  were  groups  gathered  in  anx- 
ious expectation;  while,  in  Boston,  crowds  lined  the  wharves,  hung 
on  the  roofs,  or  looked  down  from  the  church  steeples.  Not  a  cloud 
obscured  the  sky.  It  was  a  panorama  such  as  the  world  has  never 
seen  since. 

Noon  had  scarcely  passed,  when  the  British,  to  the  number  of 
three  thousand  men,  with  three  pieces  of  artillery,  landed  at  Mor- 
ton's Point,  under  command  of  General  Howe.  The  field  pieces  of 
the  enemy  immediately  began  to  play,  and  were  answered,  for  a 
while,  by  some  cannon  from  the  redoubt ;  but  these  soon  becoming 
useless,  were  carried  to  the  rear.  Meantime  Warren  had  arrived  on 
the  field,  and  shortly  after  him  General  Pomeroy :  both  these  well 
known  patriots  were  received  with  cheers  as  they  rode  along  the 
line.  The  men  were  in  the  highest  spirits.  Putnam  remained  working 
at  his  redoubt  on  Bunker  Hill,  until  towards  three  o'clock,  when  it 
became  evident  the  enemy  were  about  to  advance.  Then  he  has- 


ISRAEL    PUTNAM. 


227 


5~----^-:::--.--::.-T^7p-~-  -•  ..-..- , -v ggjpar^r^r  — 


BATTLE  OF  BC.NKER   H1LU 


tened  to  Breed's  Hill,  where  he  rode  along  the  line,  his  presence 
increasing,  if  that  were  possible,  the  enthusiasm  of  the  men. 

It  was  a  splendid  spectacle,  all  cotemporary  witnesses  agree,  that 
of  the  British  army,  as  it  advanced  to  the  attack.  It  seemed  as  if  a 
single  volley  from  it  would  annihilate  the  Americans.  The  proud 
step  of  the  grenadiers ;  their  lofty  height ;  their  glittering  arms ;  and 
the  exulting  bursts  of  music  which  accompanied  their  march  realized 
all  that  had  ever  been  imagined  of  the  might  and  panoply  of  war. 
The  men  came  on  in  columns,  their  artillery  playing  in  the  advance. 
As  the  imposing  array  moved,  through  the  long  grass,  up  the  hill, 
the  provincials,  manning  their  entrenchments,  stood  anxiously  await- 
ing the  crisis.  Few  of  them  had  ever  been  in  action  before.  Their 
best  weapons  were  muskets  without  bayonets :  not  a  few  had  only 
rusty  firelocks.  Doubtless  many  a  stout  yeoman's  bosom  throbbed 
that  day  with  terrible  suspense.  Putnam,  Prescott  and  Pomeroy 
passed  among  the  men  encouraging  and  instructing  them.  "  Do  not 
fire  until  you  can  see  their  waistbands,"  said  Putnam.  "  Take  a 
steady  aim  and  have  a  care  not  to  throw  away  your  balls." 


228  THE  HEROES  OP  THE  REVOLUTION.* 

The  enemy  advanced  slowly,  stopping  to  let  his  artillery  play,  and 
afterwards  stepping  quicker  and  discharging  volley  after  volley.  The 
thousands  of  spectators  in  Boston  and  elsewhere,  seeing  no  return 
made  to  this  fire,  fancied  the  provincials  were  paralyzed  with  fear. 
Nearer,  still  nearer,  the  grenadiers  approached,  and  now  were  close 
upon  the  redoubt.  Suddenly  a  gush  of  flame  streamed  from  one  end 
of  the  entrenchment,  and  ran  swiftly  along  the  American  line,  until 
the  whole  front  was  a  blaze  of  fire  :  a  white  cloud  of  smoke  shot 
forward,  concealing  the  assailants  from  sight :  a  rattling  sound,  sharp 
and  incessant,  followed  :  and  then,  after  a  breathless  pause  of  sus- 
pense, which  may  have  continued  ten  or  even  twenty  seconds,  for  in 
that  thrilling  interval  no  one  thought  of  time,  the  British  army 
emerged  in  disorder  from  the  smoke,  and  was  seen,  in  full  retreat, 
recoiling  down  the  hill.  Just  as  the  British  turned  to  fly,  a  form 
leaped  up  on  the  parapet,  and  a  voice  cried  tauntingly  after  one  of 
the  fugitives  who  was  known  to  have  sneered  at  American  bravery, 
"  Colonel  Abercrombie,  do  you  call  the  Yankees  cowards,  now  ?" 

The  provincials  had  conquered.  The  spectators  drew  a  long 
breath.  But  suddenly,  and  almost  before  their  exhilaration  had 
time  to  spread,  a  scene  met  their  view  which  changed  those  feelings 
of  triumph  into  horror  and  hate.  Charlestown,  the  home  of  many 
of  them,  lying  directly  at  the  foot  of  Breed's  Hill,  was  discovered  to 
be  in  flames.  Sir  William  Howe  had  ordered  it  to  be  set  on  fire 
while  he  made  his  preparations  for  a  second  attack.  Soon  the  raging 
element  was  in  full  play.  The  flames  caught  rapidly  from  house  to 
house,  rolling  volumes  of  smoke  to  the  sky.  Their  crackling  sound 
smote  incessantly  on  the  ear.  As  the  conflagration  spread,  it  reached 
the  church,  up  whose  lofty  spire  the  subtle  essence  ran,  and  streamed 
far  above  the  vane,  a  pillar  of  fire.  Sparks  were  hurried  up  in  mil- 
lions, accompanied  by  burning  fragments,  starring  with  gold  the 
black  canopy  that  now  hung  over  the  city.  The  warehouses  began 
to  explode  their  combustible  materials.  Women  were  seen  aban- 
doning their  houses,  glad  to  escape  alive  with  their  children.  The 
bells  rung  out  in  alarm ;  shrieks  and  other  sounds  of  tumult  arose  ; 
while  over  all  was  heard  the  deep  roar  of  the  conflagration,  wild 
and  terrible  as  when  a  hurricane  is  devastating  forests.  Each  instant 
the  fury  of  the  raging  destroyer  increased.  The  houses,  built  mostly 
of  wood,  flashed  into  flames  like  powder  before  the  approaching 
conflagration,  and  the  lurid  element,  surging  across  the  streets,  over- 
whelmed new  tenements,  tossing  its  fiery  crests  and  plunging  head- 
long on,  like  some  burning  and  devouring  ocean. 

In  the  meantime,  reinforcements  from  Cambridge  had  arrived  at 


ISRAEL    PUTNAM.  229 

the  Neck ;  but  the  enemy's  shipping  had  resumed  the  cannonade  ; 
and  gusts  of  fiery  sleet  drove  incessantly  across  the  narrow  isthmus. 
The  troops  drew  back.  Putnam,  who  had  hurried  from  the  entrench- 
ments to  bring  up  assistance,  was  almost  beside  himself  at  this 
hesitation.  He  dashed  through  the  hurricane  of  balls,  and  calling 
the  men  to  follow  him,  re-crossed  the  isthmus.  But  they  remained 
unmoved.  Once  more  he  passed  the  Neck.  He  exhorted,  he  im- 
plored the  troops ;  he  even  walked  his  horse  across  the  isthmus ;  he 
stood  still,  while  the  shot  threw  the  earth  up  all  around  him.  But 
neither  his  entreaties,  his  reproaches,  nor  the  haughty  scorn  of  dan- 
ger he  exhibited,  could  move  the  men :  a  few  only  crossed ;  and 
stung  to  madness  by  his  failure,  he  turned  and  hurried  passionately 
back  to  the  fight. 

He  arrived  just  in  season  to  participate  in  the  second  repulse  of 
the  British;  for  Howe,  having  rallied  his  troops,  was  now  advancing 
again  to  the  assault.  This  time  the  patriots  waited  until  the  enemy 
had  arrived  within  six  rods ;  when  they  delivered  a  fire,  even  more 
murderous  than  the  first.  The  British  again  recoiled.  In  vain  their 
officers  strove  to  rally  them :  the  volleys  of  the  excited  provincials 
followed  in  rapid  succession  :  and  at  last  the  whole  assailing  army, 
grenadiers  and  infantry  pell-mell,  rushed  in  disorder  to  their  boats. 
The  slaughter  had  been  terrific.  Of  one  company  it  was  found  that 
five,  of  another  only  fourteen  had  escaped.  Most  of  the  officers 
were  down.  It  was  during  this  assault  that  an  incident  occurred, 
that,  for  a  moment,  relieved  the  horrors  of  the  fight.  Among  the 
enemy  Putnam  recognised  an  old  friend  and  fellow  soldier,  Major 
Small,  and  recognised  him  just  in  time  to  save  his  life,  by  striking 
up  a  musket  levelled  at  him.  Poetical  as  this  occurrence  seems,  it 
is  established  on  the  best  testimony,  arid  is,  moreover,  eminently 
characteristic  of  Putnam. 

Sir  Henry  Clinton,  perceiving  the  desperate  character  of  the  fight, 
had,  meantime,  hastened  from  Boston  to  Howe's  assistance ;  and, 
with  some  difficulty,  the  troops  were  rallied  once  more,  and  led  to 
the  attack.  This  time  the  soldiers  were  ordered  to  throw  away 
their  knapsacks,  reserve  their  fire,  and  trust  to  the  bayonet.  Howe 
had  now  discovered,  also,  the  vulnerable  point  of  the  Americans ; 
and  pushing  forward  his  artillery  to  the  opening  between  the  breast- 
work and  redoubt,  was  enabled  to  enfilade  the  whole  of  the  provin- 
cial line.  He,  moreover,  abandoned  the  attack  on  the  rail  fence, 
concentrating  his  whole  force  on  the  redoubt.  To  resist  these 
preparations,  the  Americans  had  not  even  their  former  means. 
They  were  now  reduced  to  their  last  extremity.  Their  ammunition 

u 


230  THE  HEROES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 

was  exhausted ;  bayonets,  they  had  none ;  Putnam,  with  tears  of 
mortification,  had  returned  from  his  unavailing  eifort  to  bring  up 
reinforcements.  Nothing  was  left  but  to  retreat,  or  repel  the  enemy 
with  the  butts  of  their  muskets,  or  with  stones.  Having  reached 
the  works,  the  foremost  of  the  British  attempted  to  scale  them.  A 
private  mounted  first.  He  was  shot  down  at  once  with  one  of  the 
few  remaining  charges  of  ammunition.  Major  Pitcairn  followed  him. 
"  The  day  is  ours  !"  he  cried,  waving  his  sword,  as  he  leaped  on  the 
parapet.  The  words  had  scarcely  left  his  lips,  when  he,  too,  fell, 
mortally  wounded.  General  Pigot  next  made  the  attempt  to  enter 
the  works.  He  was  the  first  man  who  succeeded.  The  British 
now  came  pouring  in  on  all  sides.  The  Americans,  however,  still 
held  out.  Clubbing  their  muskets,  they  fought  with  desperate  valor, 
or  gave  ground  slowly  and  sullenly.  At  last  Prescott  ordered  a 
retreat.  The  American  right  first  fell  back,  and  after  it  the  left. 
Putnam  followed  the  retiring  troops,  indignant  and  enraged :  making 
a  vain  effort  to  induce  them  to  stand  again  on  Bunker  Hill.  Find- 
ing this  impossible,  he  remained  behind  to  cover  their  retreat. 
Coming  to  a  deserted  field-piece,  he  dismounted,  and,  taking  his  post 
by  it,  seemed  resolved  to  brave  the  foe  alone.  One  man  only  dared 
remain  with  him,  who  was  soon  shot  down.  Putnam  did  not  retire 
until  the  British  bayonets  were  close  upon  him.  He  then  followed 
the  retreating  troops,  who  fell  back,  in  good  order,  across  the  Neck, 
and  took  post  at  Bunker  Hill. 

Night  fell  on  the  scene  of  battle,  but  did  not  bring  repose.  The 
British,  as  if  fearful  of  an  attack  from  the  colonists,  kept  up  an  in- 
cessant fire  of  shot  and  shells,  in  the  direction  of  Cambridge.  As 
the  gloom  deepened,  the  spectacle  became  terrifically  sublime. 
Bombs  crossed  and  re-crossed  in  the  air,  leaving  fiery  trails  like 
comets  :  the  thunder  of  cannon  echoed  among  the  hills,  and  shook  the 
solid  shores ;  lights  were  seen  flashing  up  and  down  in  Boston,  arid 
far  and  wide  over  the  neighboring  country ;  while,  as  if  to  crown 
this  terrific  day,  the  smouldering  embers  of  Charlestown  illuminated 
the  horizon  in  that  direction,  and  poured  upwards  thick  volumes  of 
smoke,  which,  gradually  extending,  blotted  star  after  star  from  the 
heavens.  Terrible  omen  of  the  years  of  war  to  come  !  It  was  a 
night  of  alarm  and  vague  foreboding,  as  the  day  had  been  of  horror 
and  blood. 

The  moral  effect  of  this  battle,  especially  in  England,  was  almost 
incredible.  But  the  truth  is,  that  men  there  had  been  accustomed 
to  regard  the  inhabitants  of  the  colonies  in  the  same  light  they  did 
the  peasantry  of  the  continent,  as  a  timorous,  ignorant  race,  poor, 


ISRAEL    PUTNAM.  231 

without  leaders,  awe-struck  before  authority :  and  in  this  opinion 
they  had  been  confirmed  by  the  representations  sent  home  from  per- 
sons in  authority,  as  well  as  by  the  statements  made  in  Parliament 
by  cowards  like  Grant,  who  remembered  the  colonies  only  as  places 
where  their  insolence  had  been  chastised.  In  consequence,  when 
it  was  told  abroad,  that  two  or  three  thousand  of  these  despised 
peasants  had  virtually  defeated  four  thousand  well  appointed  British 
troops,  with  a  loss  to  the  latter  of  nearly  one-third  of  their  number, 
astonishment  and  admiration  took  the  place  of  contempt.  Horace 
Walpole  alluded  to  the  conflict  almost  with  glee,  overlooking  all 
considerations  of  country  in  sympathy  for  the  Americans.  At  the 
Court  of  Versailles  the  intelligence  was  received  with  secret  exulta- 
tion, and  France,  lifting  her  dishonored  head,  dreamed  of  revenge 
for  the  loss  of  Canada. 

Putnam  was  unquestionably  the  hero  of  Bunker  Hill.  Much  has 
been  written  to  dispute  his  claim  to  this  high  merit ;  but,  even  ad- 
mitting all  the  assertions  of  his  enemies,  their  facts  prove  nothing. 
It  is  not  now  pretended  that  Putnam  held  any  authorized  command 
on  the  field ;  his  real  post  was  at  Inman's  Farm ;  but  he  seerns  to 
have  hurried,  in  the  restlessness  of  his  spirit,  from  one  place  to 
another,  until  the  battle  really  begun,  when  he  flew  to  Breed's  Hill, 
and  fought  on  the  American  left.  Here,  as  during  his  occasional 
presence  in  the  preceding  hours,  his  reputation,  his  energetic  spirit, 
and  the  fact  of  his  being  the  highest  officer  in  rank  present,  gave  him 
an  authority  which,  wherever  he  went,  was  paramount  for  the  time. 
He  seems,  however,  not  to  have  interfered  with  Prescott,  who  was 
the  real  Commander-in-chief,  and  who  fought  on  the  right.  But,  as  it 
was  in  consequence  of  Putnam's  counsels  that  the  battle  was  brought 
on,  so,  during  the  strife,  and  in  the  retreat,  he  was  the  presiding 
spirit  of  the  day.  Whether  galloping  to  head-quarters  for  reinforce- 
ments, or  assisting  his  men  to  throw  up  the  redoubt  on  Bunker  Hill, 
or  hurrying  along  the  line  telling  the  provincials  to  reserve  their 
fire,  or  dashing  backwards  and  forwards  over  the  isthmus  to  persuade 
the  recruits  to  cross,  or  standing  alone  before  that  solitary  cannon, 
in  the  retreat,  brandishing  his  sword  passionately  against  a  thousand 
British  bayonets,  it  is  still  Putnam  whom  we  meet,  the  Achilles  of 
the  fight,  or,  to  change  the  simile,  the  lurid  comet  of  the  scene, 
blazing  hither  and  thither,  wilder  and  wilder  every  moment,  until 
we  lose  sight  of  everything  else  in  watching  its  fiery  progress. 

On  the  second  of  July,  little  over  two  weeks  after  the  battle,  Gen- 
eral Washington  arrived  at  Cambridge,  having  been  elected  Com- 
mander-in-chief, by  Congress,  of  the  American  army.  The  troops 


232  THE  HEKOES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 

were  now  placed  on  the  continental  establishment ;  and  Putnam  was 
one  of  the  first  four  Major-Generals  commissioned.  He  early  acquired 
the  esteem  of  Washington,  who,  in  a  letter  to  the  President  of  Congress, 
speaks  of  him,  with  a  wonderful  insight,  considering  their  short 
acquaintance,  as  "  a  most  valuable  man,  and  fine  executive  officer." 
When  it  was  contemplated  to  assault  Boston,  to  Putnam  was 
assigned  the  command  of  four  thousand  troops,  who  were  to  land  in 
the  west  part  of  the  town,  and  forcing  their  way  up  the  Neck  towards 
Roxbury,  join  the  troops  who  were  to  enter  from  that  direction.  In 
the  summer  of  1776,  when  General  Greene,  just  before  the  battle 
of  Long  Island,  was  taken  sick,  Washington  selected  Putnam  to  fill 
his  post ;  nor  are  the  misfortunes  of  the  day  to  be  attributed  justly 
to  him,  the  little  time  intervening  between  his  assumption  of  the 
command  and  the  battle,  not  allowing  leisure  to  make  himself 
acquainted  with  the  ground.  A  few  days  afterwards,  on  the  retreat 
of  the  army  from  New  York,  Putnam  was  entrusted  with  the  charge 
of  covering  the  rear ;  and  nobly  did  he  execute  his  trust,  flying,  from 
point  to  point,  his  horse  covered  with  foam,  to  encourage  the 
troops.  But  for  him  the  guards  would  have  been  inevitably  lost, 
and  perhaps  even  the  whole  of  the  rear  corps  sacrificed.  His  selec- 
tion by  Washington,  in  all  such  emergencies,  proves  how  well  that 
great  man  understood  the  peculiar  qualities  of  Putnam.  For  chival- 
rous daring,  he  had  no  equal  among  the  general  officers,  at  that 
time  in  the  American  army.  He  reminds  us  forcibly  of  some  of 
Napoleon's  Marshals,  Murat,  Ney  or  MacDonald.  Terrible  in 
the  charge,  like  an  avalanche,  he  carried  everything  before  him ! 
When  he  rushed  upon  the  foe,  firm  indeed  was  the  front  that  could 
resist  him:  generally  it  sank,  crumbling,  as  when  the  lightning 
smites  the  solid  rock. 

During  the  various  operations  that  followed  on  the  Hudson,  and 
through  the  melancholy  retreat  across  the  Jerseys,  Putnam  was  at 
Washington's  side,  faithful  and  energetic,  when  so  many  wavered 
or  were  careless.  To  Putnam  was  delegated  the  command  of  Phila- 
delphia, in  that  fearful  crisis,  when  the  enemy  was  hourly  expected 
to  advance  on  the  capital.  In  January,  1777,  he  was  sent  to  Prince- 
ton, where  he  remained  until  spring.  In  May  he  was  assigned  the 
command  of  a  separate  army  in  the  Highlands  of  the  state  of  New 
York.  This  was  an  important  post,  for  it  was  the  season  when 
Burgoyne  was  advancing  from  the  Canadas.  In  October,  Sir  Henry 
Clinton  proceeded  up  the  Hudson,  landing  at  Verplank's  Point.  On 
his  approach  Putnam  retired  to  the  high  grounds  in  his  rear.  The 
next  morning,  concealed  by  the  fog,  a  portion  of  the  British  crossed 


ISRAEL    PUTNAM.  233 

I 


the  Hudson  to  Stony  Point  and  pushed  on  to  Forts  Montgomery 
and  Clinton.  Both  these  places  were  assaulted  at  once  and  fell :  on 
hearing  which,  Putnam  evacuated  Forts  Independence  and  Consti- 
tution, retiring  to  Fishkill.  The  command  of  the  river  was  now  lost. 
But,  in  a  few  days,  Sir  Henry  Clinton,  hearing  of  Burgoyne's  sur-  - 
render,  abandoned  his  advantages  and  retired  to  New  York.  In  the 
meantime,  however,  Putnam  had  received  an  accession  of  militia, 
and  a  detachment  of  five  thousand  men  from  the  army  of  Gates, 
which  raised  his  force  to  eleven  thousand.  Washington  now  ver- 
bally, through  Colonel  Hamilton,  ordered  the  brigade,  which  Putnam 
had  received  from  the  northern  army,  to  be  sent  on  to  himself,  near 
Philadelphia;  but  Putnam  hesitating,  in  consequence  of  not  com- 
pletely apprehending  the  order,  the  Commander-in-chief  wrote  a 
letter  expressing  his  dissatisfaction.  This  is  the  only  instance  in 
which  Washington  ever  censured  Putnam.  The  conduct  of  the  latter 
was,  perhaps,  actuated  by  a  desire  to  make  an  attempt  on  New 
York,  arising  from  too  high  an  opinion  of  its  importance.  Putnam 
continued  in  command  of  the  Highlands,  occasionally  engaging  in 
desultory  enterprises. 

To  Putnam  principally  belongs  the  merit  of  having  selected  West 
Point  as  the  true  key  to  the  Highlands.  In  March,  1778,  Putnam 
was  relieved  of  his  command,  in  consequence  of  having  become 
unpopular  with  the  people  of  New  York.  The  fact  appears  to  be 
that,  by  his  interference  with  what  he  considered  the  peculations  of 
some  of  the  persons  entrusted  with  the  disposal  of  tory  property,  he 
awoke  the  enmity  of  a  powerful  and  selfish  party,  who  found  a 
handle,  in  his  acknowledged  clemency  towards  the  enemy,  to  defame 
and  injure  his  character.  What  was  then,  however,  in  the  eyes  of 
faction,  a  fault,  is  now  regarded  as  a  virtue ;  and  it  is  Putnam's 
highest  praise  that  while  indomitable  in  the  fight,  he  was  courteous 
to  the  conquered.  He  endeavored  to  soften,  as  far  as  possible, 
the  asperities  of  war.  In  a  word,  he  had  the  tenderness  of  a  woman, 
but  the  courage  of  a  lion. 

Shortly  after  the  battle  of  Monmouth,  Putnam  returned  to  the  army, 
where  he  took  command  of  the  right  wing,  being  now  second  in 
rank  to  the  Commander-in-chief.  After  that  battle,  however,  there 
was  a  lull  in  the  tempest  of  war  for  nearly  two  years,  and  no  oppor- 
tunity occurred  where  Putnam  could  distinguish  himself  in  his  pecu- 
liar way.  It  is,  perhaps,  to  be  regretted  that  he  was  absent  from  the 
main  army  in  the  campaign  of  1777,  for  both  at  Brandy  wine  and  Ger- 
mantown  there  were  emergencies  when  his  headlong  valor  might  al- 
most have  changed  the  day.  In  1 779,  he  was  detached  to  Connecticut, 
30  u*  « 


234  THE    HEROES    OF    THE    REVOLUTION. 

where  he  was  nearly  surprised,  at  West  Greenwich,  by  Governor 
Tryon,  and  only  escaped,  by  plunging  on  horseback,  headlong  down 
a  steep  ascent,  almost  precipitous,  and  nearly  one  hundred  feet  high. 
The  place  has  since  been  called  Putnam's  Leap,  and  occasionally 
Horse-neck  Hill.  This  feat  is,  perhaps,  the  favorite  with  the  public, 
of  the  numerous  daring  enterprises  of  Putnam's  career. 

His  career  was  now  drawing  to  a  close.  Towards  the  end  of  the 
campaign  of  1779,  he  was  seized  with  paralysis,  by  which  the  use  of 
his  limbs,  on  one  side,  was  temporarily  lost.  The  complaint  refusing 
to  yield,  unless  to  repose,  the  rest  of  his  days  was  passed  in  compa- 
rative inaction.  He  survived  until  the  17th  of  May,  1790,  when  he 
died,  after  a  sharp  attack  of  inflammatory  disease,  aged  seventy-two 
years.  He  retained  his  faculties  to  the  last,  the  consolations  of  reli- 
gion sustaining  his  closing  hours.  The  seven  years  of  retirement 
that  ensued  between  the  peace  of  1783  and  his  death,  were  passed 
in  comparative  prosperity ;  for  his  early  agricultural  labors  had  pro- 
duced him  a  comfortable  property.  He  was  twice  married,  the 
second  time  in  1764 ;  but  he  was  again  a  widower  in  1777 ;  and  he 
continued  one  until  his  death. 

The  career  of  Putnam  is,  perhaps,  more  familiar  to  the  popular 
mind  than  that  of  any  of  the  Generals  of  the  Revolution,  except 
Washington.  The  anecdotes  told  of  him,  and  perpetuated  in  a  thou- 
sand shapes,  are  innumerable ;  and  it  is  because  they  are  so  well 
known,  that  we  have  generally  avoided  them.  They  are  all,  how- 
ever, eminently  characteristic.  His  self-possession  as  a  boy  when 
caught  in  the  limb  of  the  apple  tree  ;  his  answer  to  Governor  Fitch, 
of  Connecticut,  in  reference  to  destroying  the  stamped  papers ;  his 
stratagem  at  Princeton,  which  so  happily  reconciled  his  kindness  of 
heart  and  his  duty  as  a  commander ;  his  laconic  note  to  Sir  Henry 
Clinton,  in  reference  to  hanging  the  spy,  claimed  by  the  royal  Gene- 
ral as  a  British  officer ;  all  shew  his  coolness  in  danger,  his  resolution 
when  aroused,  his  inventive  genius,  and  his  stern  sense  of  duty; 

(qualities  which,  united  to  great  personal  daring  and  even  greater 
tenderness  of  heart,  made  up  the  character  of  Putnam.  He  never 
could  have  become  a  first-rate  General-in-chief,  like  Greene  or 
Washington,  for  he  wanted  comprehensive  genius ;  but  he  was  bra- 
ver than  even  Arnold,  if  that  were  possible  ;  and  infinitely  superior 
in  every  moral  quality.  As  a  leader  of  division  under  Napoleon  he 
would  have  stormed  over  the  bloodiest  fields  victoriously ;  and  left 
his  name  associated,  immortally,  with  Wagram,  Leipsic,  and  Wa- 
terloo ! 


RICHARD   MONTGOMERY. 


ICHARD  Montgomery,  a  Major-Gene- 
ral  in  the  continental  army,  was  born,  of 
a  family  of  standing,  in  the  north  of  Ire- 
land, on  the  2nd  of  December,  1736.  He 
received  his  education  at  the  college  of 
Dublin,  and,  at  the  age  of  eighteen  ob- 
tained a  commission  in  the  British  army, 
the  military  profession  suiting  alike  his 
own  taste  and  his  father's  wishes.  He 
first  saw  active  service  in  America, 
whither  he  went  in  1757.  In  the  following  year  his  regiment  was 
at  the  siege  of  Louisburg,  and  on  this  occasion  young  Montgomery's 
military  qualities  were  so  conspicuous  that  he  was  promoted  to  a 
Lieutenancy.  After  the  fall  of  that  place,  Montgomery's  regiment, 
with  five  others,  was  despatched  to  join  Abercrombie  at  Lake  Cham- 

235 


236  THE  HEROES  OP  THE  REVOLUTION. 

plain.  He  remained  with  the  army  operating  against  Canada,  until 
1760,  when  Montreal  finally  surrendered  to  the  British  arms.  He 
next  visited  the  West  Indies,  and  partook  in  the  expeditions  against 
Martinico  and  Havana.  His  conduct  here  procured  his  elevation  to 
the  command  of  a  company.  Soon  after  the  treaty  of  Versailles, 
which,  in  1763,  put  an  end  to  the  war,  he  procured  permission  to 
visit  Europe,  where  he  remained  until  1772,  when  he  finally  aban- 
doned his  native  country,  and  removed  to  America,  with  the  intention 
of  permanently  settling  there.  His  reasons  for  this  resolution  are 
understood  to  have  been  that,  having  twice  been  frustrated  in  the 
purchase  of  a  majority,  and  being  convinced  that  there  was  a  govern- 
ment agency  in  both  cases,  he  determined  to  quit  the  service,  and 
throw  off  the  country,  which  had  thus  become  hostile  to  his  interests. 
What  cause  there  was,  if  any,  for  the  enmity  of  the  government,  has 
never  been  made  public ;  but  Montgomery  never  would  admit  any. 
On  the  contrary,  that  he  felt  himself  wantonly  ill-used,  is  evident, 
from  the  pertinacity  with  which,  ever  after,  he  declaimed  against 
the  oppressions  of  England. 

Having  married  Miss  Livingston,  a  daughter  of  Robert  R.  Liv- 
ingston, he  settled  at  Rhinebeck,  in  Dutchess  county,  New  York, 
and  devoted  himself  to  agriculture.  He  soon  acquired  influence  in 
the  province.  The  disputes  between  Great  Britain  and  the  colonies 
were,  every  year,  becoming  more  alarming ;  and  Montgomery,  taking 
the  part  of  his  adopted  country,  was,  in  April,  1775,  elected  a  mem- 
ber of  the  first  Provincial  Convention  of  New  York.  The  battle  of 
Lexington  soon  followed.  The  whole  nation  became,  as  it  were, 
transformed  into  a  garrison ;  and  the  din  of  preparing  aims  resound- 
ed, day  and  night.  The  general  Congress  proceeded  to  form  an  army, 
of  which  Washington  was  chosen  Commander-in-chief,  with  four  Ma- 
jor-Generals, and  eight  Brigadiers.  The  influence  of  his  connexions, 
added  to  his  reputation,  procured  Montgomery  a  commission  as 
Brigadier.  Though  the  gift  was  unsolicited,  he  would  not  refuse  it. 
Writing  to  a  friend,  he  says :  "  The  Congress  having  done  me  the 
honor  of  electing  me  a  Brigadier-General  in  their  service,  is  an  event 
which  must  put  an  end  for  a  while,  perhaps  forever,  to  the  quiet 
scheme  of  life  I  had  prescribed  for  myself;  for,  though  entirely  un- 
expected and  undesired  by  me,  the  will  of  an  oppressed  people, 
compelled  to  choose  between  liberty  and  slavery,  must  be  obeyed." 
These  were  noble  sentiments,  and,  in  a  few  months,  he  sealed  them 
with  his  blood. 

One  of  the  first  aims  of  Congress  was  to  enlist  Canada  in  the  con- 
test.    For  this  purpose  an  expedition  against  that  province  was 


RICHARD    MONTGOMERY. 


237 


determined  on,  for  the  two-fold  purpose  of  expelling  the  English, 
and  inducing  the  Canadians  to  join  the  Americans.  Two  routes 
were  selected  for  the  invasion,  the  one  by  the  Sorel,  the  other  by  the 
Kennebec.  The  latter  was  assigned  to  Arnold;  the  former  to  Major- 
General  Schuyler.  Arnold,  with  a  thousand  men,  was  to  cross  the 
wilderness  of  Maine,  and  form  a  junction  at,  or  near  Quebec,  with 
Schuyler,  who,  in  the  meantime,  with  three  thousand  troops,  was  to 


ST.  JOHNS,   ON  THE  SOREL. 


act,  by  the  other  route,  against  Forts  St.  John,  Chamblee  and  North- 
erly. With  Schuyler  went  Montgomery  as  second  in  command. 
The  first  destination  of  the  army  was  to  have  been  Ticonderoga ; 
but  in  the  capture  of  that  place  Schuyler  was  anticipated  by  Ethan 
Allen.  On  the  17th  of  August,  Montgomery  arrived  at  Ticonderoga, 
in  advance  of  his  commanding  officer,  and  immediately  began  to 
make  preparations  for  proceeding  down  the  lake.  On  the  5th  of 
September,  General  Schuyler  reached  the  camp.  The  investment 
of  St.  Johns  was,  at  once,  begun.  But,  on  the  night  of  the  landing, 
a  spy  brought  in  such  intelligence  of  the  strength  of  the  enemy,  as 
induced  the  Americans  to  abandon  their  design ;  and,  on  the  7th,  the 
troops  were  re-conducted  to  their  former  post  at  the  Isle-aux-Noix. 
At  this  point  General  Schuyler  wrote  to  Congress : — "  I  cannot  esti- 
mate the  obligations  I  lie  under  to  General  Montgomery,  for  the 


238  THE  HEROES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 

many  important  services  he  has  done,  and  daily  does,  and  in  which 
he  has  had  little  assistance  from  me."  Soon  after,  General  Schuyler 
was  compelled,  by  ill-health,  to  return  to  Albany,  on  which  the 
command  of  the  expedition  devolved  on  General  Montgomery. 

He  proved  himself  fully  equal  to  the  arduous  task.  It  is  now  that 
we  first  really  arrive  at  the  military  career  of  Montgomery,  a  career 
destined  to  be  as  short  as  it  was  brilliant.  He  had  already,  in  his 
earlier  campaigns,  traversed  the  ground  on  which  he  was  now  called 
to  operate  ;  and,  having  then  made  himself  thoroughly  acquainted 
with  it,  he  was  now  able  to  act  under  peculiar  advantages.  The 
decision,  sagacity,  and  promptitude  of  his  character  became  immedi- 
ately apparent.  In  a  short  time,  the  whole  of  Canada  had  been 
conquered,  except  the  single  city  of  Quebec,  then,  arid  since,  the 
Gibraltar  of  America.  Fort  Chamblee  was  first  captured,  by  a 
detachment  sent  forward,  under  Majors  Livingston  and  Brown. 
Then,  General  Carleton,  the  British  Governor  of  Canada,  approach- 
ing to  raise  the  siege  of  St.  Johns,  was  defeated.  This  happened  at 
Longueil,  on  the  31st  of  October,  as  he  attempted  to  cross  the  river. 
St.  Johns  now  surrendered.  Immediately  advancing  to  Montreal, 
Montgomery  captured  that  city  on  the  12th  of  November.  He  had 
hoped  to  surprise  Carleton  here,  but  that  General,  receiving  timely 
warning,  had  at  first  flown  to  his  fleet,  and  afterwards,  fearing  he 
could  not  force  his  way,  had  trusted  himself  to  a  small  boat,  and 
with  muffled  oars,  succeeded  in  passing  the  American  batteries  and 
armed  vessels  in  the  night. 

But  now,  to  his  chagrin,  Montgomery  found  it  impossible  to  prose- 
cute his  victorious  career  as  he  wished,  or  as  America  expected  of 
him.  Most  of  his  troops  were  disinclined  to  remain  longer  in  the 
field.  Indeed,  before  his  late  success,  he  had  been  compelled  to 
pacify  them  by  a  promise,  that,  "  Montreal  in  his  possession,  no 
further  service  would  be  exacted  from  them."  He  nevertheless  did 
the  best  he  could,  under  these  discouraging  circumstances.  His  first 
object  was  to  effect  a  junction  with  Arnold,  who,  on  the  19th  of 
November,  had  crossed  the  St.  Lawrence  in  safety.  This  was 
effected  on  the  4th  of  December.  His  next  was  to  pursue  Carleton 
to  Quebec,  where  that  General  had  taken  refuge ;  and  attempt  the 
reduction  of  this  stronghold.  "  I  need  not  tell  you,"  he  wrote  to  a 
member  of  Congress,  "  that,  till  Quebec  is  taken,  Canada  is  uncon- 
quered."  He  entertained,  however,  no  visionary  prospects  of  suc- 
cess. He  states  distinctly,  in  the  letter  just  referred  to,  that,  unless 
Congress  reinforces  him,  the  result  must  be  exceedingly  doubtful. 
There  were  but  three  ways  of  reducing  Quebec :  first,  by  siege ; 


RICHARD    MONTGOMERY.  239 

second,  by  investment ;  third,  by  storm.  The  first  was  impracticable, 
because,  in  the  winter,  the  ground  was  frozen  too  hard  to  dig 
trenches ;  and,  before  summer  could  arrive,  an  English  fleet,  with 
reinforcements,  would  be  in  the  St.  Lawrence.  The  second  was 
impossible,  in  consequence  of  the  small  number  of  his  troops :  and 
if  possible,  would  have  been  impolitic,  because  it  deprived  the  Cana- 
dian farmers  of  their  city  market,  without  affording  a  substitute ; 
and  to  conciliate,  not  irritate  the  Canadians,  was  the  desire  of  Mont- 
gomery. The  only  plan,  which  afforded  even  a  gleam  of  success, 
was  the  third  and  last,  that  of  a  storm.  But  that  Montgomery  fully 
comprehended  all  the  difficulties  of  his  position,  and  was,  by  no 
means,  sanguine  even  of  an  assault,  will  appear  by  another  extract 
from  the  letter  already  twice  referred  to. 

"  To  the  storming  plan,"  he  writes,  "  there  are  fewer  objections ; 
and  to  this  we  must  come  at  last.  If  my  force  be  small,  Carleton's 
is  not  great.  The  extensiveness  of  his  works,  which,  in  case  of 
investment,  would  favor  him,  will,  in  the  other  case,  favor  us. 
Masters  of  our  secret,  we  may  select  a  particular  time  and  place 
for  attack,  and,  to  repel  this,  the  garrison  must  be  prepared  at  all 
times  and  places;  a  circumstance,  which  will  impose  upon  it  inces- 
sant watching  and  labor  by  day  and  by  night ;  which,  in  its  undis- 
ciplined state,  must  breed  discontents  that  may  compel  Carleton  to 
capitulate,  or,  perhaps,  to  make  an  attempt  to  drive  us  off.  In  this 
last  idea,  there  is  a  glimmering  of  hope.  Wolfe's  success  was  a 
lucky  hit,  or  rather  a  series  of  such  hits.  All  sober  and  scientific 
calculation  was  against  him,  until  Montcalm,  permitting  his  courage 
to  get  the  better  of  his  discretion,  gave  up  the  advantages  of  his 
fortress,  and  came  out  to  try  his  strength  on  the  plain.  Carleton, 
who  was  Wolfe's  Quartermaster-General,  understands  this  well ;  and, 
it  is  to  be  feared,  will  not  follow  the  Frenchman's  example." 
This  prediction  was  verified  by  the  result.  Carleton  remained  in 
his  fortress,  on  his  guard  against  a  surprise.  No  demonstrations  of 
the  Americans  could  induce  him  to  abandon  his  covert :  inflexible 
and  defying,  he  remained  secure  behind  his  massive  walls ! 

At  first,  Montgomery  began  a  bombardment,  but,  as  he  had  only 
five  small  mortars,  he  soon  desisted,  finding  them  of  no  effect.  He 
then  opened  a  six  gun  battery,  about  seven  hundred  yards  from  the 
fortress ;  but  his  pieces  were  of  too  small  calibre.  A  council  of  war 
was  now  called,  when  the  question  was  submitted,  "shall  we  attempt 
the  reduction  of  Quebec  by  a  night  attack  ?"  This  was  carried  by 
a  majority  of  one.  It  was  then  decided  that  the  lower  town  should 
be  the  point  attacked,  and  that  the  assault  should  be  made  on  the 


240  THE    HEROES    OP  THE    REVOLUTION. 

first  favorable  opportunity.  A  night  was  selected,  but  it  proved 
too  clear,  and  then  Montgomery,  as  if  with  a  foreboding  of  his  fate, 
chose  the  last  day  of  the  year  for  the  enterprise.  Meantime,  the 
enemy,  through  his  spies,  had  obtained  intelligence  of  the  intended 
assault,  and  held  himself  in  readiness.  The  American  General 
decided  to  make  the  attack  on  two  sides  of  the  lower  town  at  once : 
Arnold  leading  one  detachment,  and  himself  another.  While  these 
two  were  thus  engaged,  a  third  division  was  to  make  a  succession 
of  feints  against  the  upper  town.  Between  three  and  four  o'clock, 
accordingly,  of  the  morning  of  the  31st  of  December,  1775,  the 
troops  were  put  in  motion.  Montgomery's  division  was  in  high 
spirits,  notwithstanding  they  had  to  make  their  way  against  a 
driving  tempest  of  snow,  which  almost  blocked  up  their  road.  The 
route  lay  around  the  foot  of  the  promontory,  where  his  way  was 
further  impeded  by  huge  masses  of  ice,  which  the  tide  had  piled, 
high  and  jagged,  between  the  river  and  the  face  of  the  precipice. 
The  men  were  continually  slipping,  and  suffering  intensely  from  the 
cold.  Fierce  and  sullen  the  huge  St.  Lawrence  roared  along  at  their 
sides,  its  white  crests  occasionally  flashing  through  the  gloom ;  while 
avalanches  of  snow,  blown  from  the  heights  overhead,  came  drifting 
down  across  the  darkness.  Occasionally,  too,  huge  fire-balls,  pro- 
jected by  the  enemy,  falling  on  the  snow,  or  simmering  on  the  river, 
flung  their  lurid  light  around.  At  last  the  promontory  was  passed  ; 
and  the  first  barrier  appeared.  Pausing  a  moment  to  restore  order 
to  his  ranks,  Montgomery  dashed  forward,  and,  in  an  instant,  the 
work  was  carried.  The  second  was  just  before,  dimly  seen  through 
the  faint  light,  guarded  by  a  row  of  palisades.  An  instant  Montgom- 
ery halted,  but  only  for  an  instant :  it  was- while  his  troops  gathered 
around  him  for  another  rush.  He  pointed,  with  his  sword,  to  the 
palisades  ahead.  His  eye  kindled,  and  his  form  dilated.  "  Men  of 
New  York,"  he  cried,  "you  will  not  fear  to  follow  where  your 
General  leads, — march  on  !"  Pronouncing  these  stirring  words,  he 
dashed  forward,  followed  closely  by  his  companions.  He  was  one 
of  the  first  to  gain  the  pickets,  which  he  seized  with  his  own  hands, 
and  began  pulling  them  up,  his  men  eagerly  imitating  his  example, 
and  everything  promising  a  speedy  and  glorious  victory.  The  road 
was  here  so  narrow  that  five  persons  could  scarcely  walk  abreast. 
Montgomery,  pressing  exultingly  on,  had  gained  a  rising  ground 
about  thirty  yards  from  the  barrier,  when,  suddenly,  a  couple  of 
cannon,  which  had  been  masked  there,  were  discharged  down  the 
passage.  The  effect  was  terrific  ;  the  Americans,  crowded  together, 
were  mowed  down  in  heaps :  the  path  of  that  hurricane  of  balls, 


RICHARD    MONTGOMERY.  241 

being  as  distinctly  marked  as  a  windfall  in  the  forest.  Montgomery, 
being  foremost,  was  one  of  the  first  to  fall:  his  two  aids,  at  his 
side,  followed  him  so  instantaneously,  that  the  bodies  of  all  three 
rolled  over  together  on  the  ice,  at  the  side  of  the  river.  The  rest  of 
the  assailants  recoiled  in  dismay.  The  troops  lost  their  confidence. 
Confusion  and  terror  followed,  and,  in  a  few  minutes,  the  Americans, 
who  so  lately  had  seemed  to  hold  victory  within  their  grasp,  were 
totally  defeated.  It  does  not  belong  to  this  biography  to  follow  the 
fortunes  of  Arnold's  division,  except  so  far  as  to  state  that  it  also 
was  repulsed,  Arnold  himself  receiving  a  severe  wound  in  the  leg, 
and  Morgan,  his  second  in  command,  being  captured. 

The  military  career  of  Montgomery  was  too  short  to  develope,  to 
their  full  extent,  the  resources  of  his  genius.  He  had,  however, 
during  his  campaign  of  three  months,  exhibited  great  military  talents  : 
prudence,  coolness,  foresight,  energy,  and  personal  courage  the  most 
chivalrous.  His  industry  was  great;  his  vigilance  sleepless.  He 
combined  great  strength  and  activity  in  his  physical  organization, 
with  a  high  intellect,  and  many  excellent  qualities  of  heart.  He  was 
affable  and  kind ;  a  patriot,  and  a  gentleman.  He  had  none  of  that 
vanity  which  disdained  the  advice  of  others ;  but,  when  his  own 
opinions  were  over-ruled,  cheerfully  acquiesced.  When  he  first 
assumed  command  of  the  troops  they  were  jealous  of  him  in  the 
extreme ;  but  he  gradually  won  their  confidence,  and  at  last  inspired 
them  with  his  own  enthusiasm.  They  followed  him,  in  that  terrible 
assault,  with  a  valor  the  most  heroic,  and  their  reliance  on  him  is 
shewn  by  their  consternation  when  he  fell.  Those  who  belonged  to 
Arnold's  division,  and  were  taken  prisoners,  burst  into  tears  when 
they  saw  his  dead  body,  the  next  day.  Had  he  lived,  the  result 
might  have  been  different,  though  even  that  is  problematical.  As  it 
was,  he  won  a  martyr's  name.  We  do  nbt  know  but  that  his  fate 
was  an  enviable  one.  Even  had  he  survived  to  become  one  of  the  most 
successful  Generals  of  the  war,  his  name  never  would  have  been 
regarded  with  the  sanctity  and  veneration  with  which  it  is  now 
worshipped.  Perishing,  in  the  arms  of  what  seemed  almost  a  victory, 
and  after  a  series  of  brilliant  and  decisive  successes,  his  death  seems 
the  fitting  climax  to  a  race  of  glory.  Both  England  and  America 
united  to  regret  him.  Eloquence  pronounced  his  panegyric  abroad  ; 
patriotism  wept  his  untimely  end  at  home.  The  British  minister,  at 
the  close  of  a  eulogy,  pronounced  on  him,  said,  "  Curses  on  his  vir- 
tues, they  have  undone  his  country." 

Montgomery  perished  at  the  early  age  of  thirty -eight.  His  remains, 
at  the  entreaty  of  Lieutenant-Governor  Cramat6,  were  allowed  burial 
31  v 


242 


THE  HEROES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 


within  the  city.  A  plain  coffin  was  provided,  with  a  silver  plate  on 
the  lid.  Forty-two  years  after,  his  remains,  by  a  resolution  of  the 
state  of  New  York,  were  disinterred,  and  conveyed  to  the  city  of 
New  York,  where  they  were  deposited,  with  august  ceremonies, 
near  the  monument  which  Congress  had  erected,  in  front  of  St.  Paul's 
church,  to  his  memory.  His  name  has  ever  been  cherished  with 
peculiar  fondness  by  Americans. 


ETHAN    ALLEN. 

THAN  ALLEN, 

Brevet-Colonel  in 
the  Continental 
iT/Line,  was  born  in 
^-Litchfield,  Con- 
fnecticut,  though 
in  what  year  is 
not  known.  He 
was  a  man  of 
strong,  natural 
powers  of  mind, 
but  possessing  lit- 
tle cultivation. — 
He  was,  perhaps, 
somewhat  too  self- 
confident  in  all 
things.  His  cour- 
age was  bold 
even  to  rashness.  Ambitious  and  determined  in  public  life  ;  in  pri- 
vate he  was  mild  and  placable.  His  manners  were  eccentric.  He 
was  frank,  generous  and  warm-hearted  ;  in  religious  matters  he  was 
a  skeptic.  We  introduce  him  into  this  series  of  biographies  on 
account  of  his  capture  of  Ticonderoga,  and  the  sufferings  he  endured 
when  subsequently  a  prisoner  in  the  hands  of  the  British. 

At  an  early  period  of  his  career,  Allen  removed  from  Connecticut 
and  settled  within  the  borders  of  the  present  state  of  Vermont,  on 
what  were  called  the  New  Hampshire  grants.  At  that  time,  the 

243 


244  THE  HEROES  OP  THE  REVOLUTION. 

boundaries  between  the  different  provinces  were  not  clearly  defined, 
and  both  New  York  and  New  Hampshire  claimed  the  territory 
between  the  Connecticut  river  and  Lake  Champlain.  The  Governor 
of  the  latter  state  even  proceeded  so  far  as  to  grant  patents  for  tracts 
of  land,  on  which  many  individuals  were  induced  to  settle,  among 
xvhom  were  Ethan  Allen,  his  brother,  and  other  Connecticut  yeomen. 
In  course  of  time,  under  the  labor  of  these  pioneers,  the  forest  disap- 
peared, and  in  its  place  rose  flourishing  farms  and  thriving  villages. 
About  this  period  New  York  put  in  her  claim  for  the  territory,  and. 
in  1764,  procured  a  decree  of  the  King  in  council  in  favor  of  her 
right.  But  when  the  settlers,  or  as  they  now  called  themselves,  the 
Green  Mountain  Boys,  found  the  Surveyors  of  New  York  running  lines 
over  the  lands  they  had  so  long  regarded  as  their  own,  and  heard 
that  they  were  expected  to  pay  a  second  time  for  their  farms,  a  spirit 
of  the  most  determined  resistance  to  this  practical  injustice  was  aroused. 
The  result  was  a  controversy  between  the  settlers  and  the  govern- 
ment of  New  York,  which  raged  with  great  bitterness  up  to  the  period 
of  the  Revolution,  and  was  only  adjusted,  as  we  shall  see,  with  great 
difficulty,  even  after  that  event  had  achieved  their  common  indepen- 
dence, the  dispute  even  threatening,  at  one  time,  to  throw  Vermont 
into  the  arms  of  Great  Britain. 

It  was  in  this  controversy,  and  before  the  war  of  the  Revolution, 
that  Ethan  Allen  first  rose  to  eminence  as  a  public  character.  By 
general  consent  he  became  the  head  and  directer  of  the  disaffected 
settlers,  and  was  given  the  command  of  a  body  of  troops  raised  by 
them,  to  resist  the  aggressions  of  New  York. 

When  the  members  of  the  Connecticut  Legislature,  immediately 
after  the  battle  of  Lexington,  conceived  the  capture  of  Ticonderoga, 
he  was  suggested  to  them  as  a  suitable  person  to  command  the 
expedition.  The  self-constituted  committee  had  proceeded  from 
Hartford  to  Bennington,  raising  volunteers  as  they  went  along  ;  and 
at  the  latter  place  they  held  a  council  of  war,  in  which  Allen  was 
formally  appointed  the  leader  of  the  projected  enterprise.  Just  as 
the  troops  were  about  to  set  forward,  Arnold  arrived  from  Massa- 
chusetts, having  been  commissioned  by  the  Committee  of  Safety  of 
that  colony  to  seize  Ticonderoga,  though  without  any  knowledge  of 
the  proposed  expedition  of  Allen.  Arnold,  however,  brought  no 
men  with  him ;  and  hence,  in  the  end,  though  not  until  he  had  made 
considerable  difficulty,  consented  to  waive  his  commission  and  serve 
under  Allen  as  a  volunteer. 

The  main  body,  consisting  of  one  hundred  and  forty  persons,  now 
pushed  forward,  and,  arriving  on  the  shore  of  the  Lake  opposite 


ETHAN    ALLEN.  245 

Ticonderoga,  proceeded  immediately  to  cross.  This  was  in  the  night, 
and  but  eighty-three  had  crossed  when  the  dawn  broke.  Resolving 
not  to  wait  for  the  remainder  of  his  force,  Allen  drew  up  his  men  in 
three  ranks,  made  them  a  short  address,  and,  placing  himself  at  their 
head,  led  them  silently  but  with  rapid  steps,  up  the  heights  on  which 
the  fortress  stood.  As  he  reached  the  gate,  with  Arnold  at  his  side, 
a  sentinel  snapped  his  musket  at  them  and  then  hastily  retreated  to 
the  shelter  of  a  covering.  Another  sentinel  made  a  thrust  at  one  of 
the  officers,  on  which  Allen  cut  the  soldier  across  the  head  with  his 
sword,  when  the  man  threw  down  his  gun  and  begged  for  quarter. 
The  assailants  now  rushed  on  and  gaining  the  parade  between  the 
barracks,  gave  three  hearty  cheers  in  token  of  their  victory.  Having 
done  this,  they  remained  with  ready  arms,  while  Allen  advanced  to 
the  door  of  the  Commandant's  apartment,  which  was  approached  by 
a  stairs  attached  to  the  outside  of  the  barracks,  and,  knocking  loudly, 
called  for  the  Captain  to  appear,  or  the  whole  garrison  should  be 
sacrificed.  DeLaplace  startled  from  sleep  thus  rudely,  arose  and 
opened  the  door  in  bewilderment,  when  the  form  of  Allen  appeared 
with  a  drawn  sword,  and  his  voice  was  heard  sternly  demanding  an 
instant  surrender.  "By  what  authority?"  asked  DeLaplace,  won- 
dering with  whom  Great  Britain,  unknown  to  himself,  was  at  war. 
"  In  the  name  of  the  Great  Jehovah  and  the  Continental  Congress," 
exclaimed  Allen.  The  Governor  attempted  to  expostulate,  but  Allen 
raised  his  weapon  over  his  head,  and  seeing  no  alternative,  DeLa- 
place gave  up  his  sword  and  ordered  the  garrison  to  parade  without 
arms.  The  principal  advantage  of  this  capture  was  the  possession 
of  one  hundred  and  twenty  pieces  of  cannon,  besides  numerous 
swivels,  mortars,  small  arms  and  stores.  The  number  of  prisoners 
was  one  Captain,  one  Lieutenant,  and  forty-eight  subalterns  and 
privates.  During  the  day  the  remainder  of  Allen's  main  body 
arrived,  and  on  the  morrow  he  was  still  further  reinforced,  so 
that  his  troops,  which,  in  the  assault,  had  numbered,  as  we  have  seen, 
but  eighty -three,  two  days  after,  rose  to  two  hundred  and  twenty-six. 
The  capture  of  Crown  Point  followed.  A  combined  land  and 
naval  attack  was  then  projected  against  St.  Johns,  in  which  Allen 
led  the  land,  and  Arnold  the  naval  forces.  The  latter  arrived 
first  at  his  destination,  and  captured  a  King's  sloop  armed  with  two 
brass  six  pounders,  besides  taking  twenty  men  prisoners;  but,  hear- 
ing of  the  approach  of  reinforcements,  he  thought  it  advisable  to 
retreat.  On  his  return,  about  fifteen  miles  from  St.  Johns,  he  met 
Allen,  who,  notwithstanding  Arnold's  report,  determined  to  proceed. 
The  consequence  of  this  rashness  was  that  the  enemy  attacked  him 

v* 


246  THE    HEROES    OF    THE    REVOLUTION. 

the  next  morning  with  two  hundred  men  and  defeating  him  with  the 
loss  of  three  prisoners,  compelled  him  to  retire  hastily  to  Ticonde- 
roga.  Allen  now  took  command  of  this  latter  fortress,  while  Arnold 
became  Governor  of  Crown  Point.  Meantime,  notice  of  these  pro- 
ceedings having  been  sent  to  the  Continental  Congress,  that  body 
had  requested  Gov.  Trumbull,  of  Connecticut,  to  despatch  a  body  of 
troops  to  Lake  Champlain  sufficient  to  defend  these  important  acqui- 
sitions ;  and,  accordingly,  a  thousand  men  having  been  deputed  for 
that  purpose,  under  command  of  Col.  Hinman,  Allen,  on  their 
arrival,  resigned  the  post  into  their  hands.  The  capture  of  Ticonde- 
roga  was  one  of  the  boldest  affairs  of  the  war,  and  was  regarded 
abroad  as  even  more  brilliant  than  it  really  was ;  for  the  place  had 
played  so  important  a  part  in  former  contests,  and  was  thought  to  be 
so  impregnable,  that  men  could  not  credit  how  it  could  be  taken  by 
eighty  raw  volunteers. 

Col.  Allen  now  visited  Philadelphia,  in  order  to  procure  pay 
for  the  soldiers  who  had  served  under  him,  and  to  solicit  authority 
to  raise  a  regiment  in  the  New  Hampshire  grants.  Congress  voted 
to  allow  the  men  and  officers  engaged  in  the  enterprise  against  Ticon- 
deroga  and  Crown  Point  the  same  pay  as  was  received  by  officers 
and  privates  in  the  American  army ;  but  the  question  of  raising  a 
regiment  they  referred  to  the  Provincial  Congress  of  New  York,  in 
order  that  no  controversy  might  arise  about  jurisdiction  at  a  time 
when  unanimity  was  so  desirable.  To  the  Congress  of  New  York 
accordingly,  Allen  proceeded;  and  that  body  promptly  passed  a 
resolution  for  raising  a  regiment  of  Green  Mountain  Boys.  Of  this 
regiment  Seth  Warner,  the  friend  and  Lieutenant  of  Allen,  was 
chosen  Lieutenant-Colonel. 

Allen  now  joined  the  northern  army  under  Gen.  Schuyler,  as  a 
volunteer.  The  invasion  of  Canada  had  been  originally  proposed  by 
himself,  in  a  letter  written  from  Crown  Point  on  the  2nd  of  the  pre- 
ceding June  ;  and  though  the  project  had  then  been  overlooked,  he 
had  now  the  gratification  of  seeing  it  carried  into  effect  by  the  Con- 
tinental Congress.  With  an  address  to  the  Canadians,  Allen  was 
despatched  into  Canada,  where  his  mission  met  with  considerable 
success.  Gen.  Montgomery  having  succeeded  Schuyler  about  the 
time  of  Allen's  return,  despatched  the  latter  a  second  time  into  Can- 
ada, for  the  purpose  of  raising  as  many  of  the  inhabitants  as  he 
could,  to  take  arms  and  unite  with  the  Americans.  He  soon  suc- 
ceeded in  collecting  about  three  hundred  Canadians,  and  wrote  to 
Montgomery  that,  with  a  little  exertion,  he  could  obtain  a  thousand. 
Had  he  now  returned  to  his  General,  with  these  recruits,  the  whole 


ETHAN    ALLEN.  247 

fate  of  the  expedition  might  have  been  altered  ;  but,  in  an  evil  hour, 
he  met  Major  Brown,  who  commanded  an  advance  party  of  Ameri- 
cans and  Canadians,  and  the  latter  proposed  that  they  should  unite 
their  forces  and  attempt  to  surprise  Montreal.  The  duty  of  Allen 
was  plain  ;  it  was  to  resist  the  temptation,  and  return  to  Montgom- 
ery, who,  busily  engaged  in  besieging  St.  Johns,  needed  his  assist- 
ance. But  Allen  had  been  too  long  accustomed  to  acting  without  a 
superior,  to  pay  much  regard  to  the  requirements  of  discipline. 
Allured  by  the  prospect  of  so  great  a  prize,  he  determined  to  risk 
the  enterprise.  As  might  have  been  foreseen  it  failed.  Allen,  with 
eighty  Canadians  and  thirty  Americans,  crossed  the  river  below  the 
town  before  dawn ;  but  Major  Brown,  who  was  to  have  landed 
above,  failed  to  arrive  in  consequence  of  the  high  winds  and  waves. 
It  was  now  too  late  for  Allen  to  retreat,  as  his  canoes  could  carry 
but  a  third  of  his  force  at  a  time.  With  the  break  of  day  the  enemy 
became  alarmed,  and  soon  a  body  of  forty  regulars,  with  two  hun- 
dred Canadians,  besides  a  few  Indians,  made  their  appearance.  All 
his  men  now  deserted  except  about  thirty-eight,  on  which  he  agreed 
to  surrender  if  promised  honorable  terms.  Thus  ended  this  Quixotic 
enterprise  ! 

Now  ensued  a  series  of  personal  sufferings,  visited  on  Allen  by 
the  British  authorities, 'which  will  ever  remain  a  disgrace  on  the  Brit- 
ish name.  All  parties,  from  lowest  to  highest,  should  share  in  this 
obloquy ;  for  the  ill-treatment  begun  at  Montreal,  was  persevered  in 
when  Allen  went  to  England ;  it  was  a  matter  of  public  notoriety, 
the  Prime  Minister  being  as  cognizant  of  it  as  the  meanest  subaltern 
who  tyrannized  over  the  unfortunate  captive.  We  shall  follow 
Allen's  sufferings,  in  detail,  through  the  two  years  and  a  half  of  his 
imprisonment.  On  being  carried  into  Montreal,  he  was  threatened 
by  Gen.  Prescott  with  a  halter  at  Tyburn ;  and  afterwards  sent  on 
board  the  Gaspee  man-of-war,  where  he  was  hand-cuffed,  and  his 
ankles  put  in  shackles,  to  which  a  bar  of  iron  eight  feet  long  was 
fastened.  He  was  then  thrust  into  the  lowest  part  of  the  ship,  where 
a  common  sailor's  chest  was  alike  his  bed  and  seat.  Here  he  re- 
mained five  weeks.  He  was  afterwards  transferred  to  Quebec  and 
placed  on  board  another  vessel,  where,  for  a  few  days,  he  enjoyed  a 
respite  from  his  sufferings ;  the  Captain,  a  Mr.  Littlejohn,  ordering 
his  irons  to  be  taken  off,  and  giving  him  a  seat  at  his  own  table.  On 
the  approach  of  the  American  army,  Allen  was  put  on  board 
a  vessel  of  war,  and  sent,  with  other  prisoners,  to  England.  His 
hand-cuffs  were  now  replaced,  and,  with  thirty -three  others,  he  was 
confined  in  a  single  apartment,  which  they  were  not  allowed  to  leave 


248  THE  HEROES  OP  THE  REVOLUTION. 

during  a  passage  that  extended  to  nearly  forty  days.  Barbarities  like 
these  were  then  known  only  to  the  slave  trade. 

It  was  a  happy  hour  for  the  poor  captives  when  the  vessel  that 
bore  them  anchored  in  the  harbor  of  Falmouth.  Now,  for  the  first 
time  since  they  started,  were  they  permitted  to  come  on  deck  and 
breathe  the  fresh  air.  The  prisoners,  on  being  landed,  experienced 
better  treatment,  though  still  such  as  would  have  been  deemed  harsh 
to  any  who  had  suffered  less.  They  were  now  lodged  in  an  airy  apart- 
ment, and  indulged  with  beds  of  straw.  But  their  irons  were  still 
kept  on.  Allen  himself  was  distinguished  by  several  marks  of  pecu- 
liar favor,  chiefly  owing  to  his  rank  and  to  the  renown  of  the  capture 
of  Ticonderoga.  Still,  however,  threats  that  he  would  yet  be  exe- 
cuted as  a  traitor,  were  frequently  made  to  him.  In  this  emergency 
he  asked  leave  to  write  a  letter  to  the  Continental  Congress ;  when  he 
took  occasion  to  depict  the  sufferings  he  had  endured  and  to  advise 
retaliation.  A  missive  of  this  character,  as  he  had  expected,  was 
sent  to  Lord  North,  instead  of  to  the  American  Congress ;  and  in  the 
end  more  lenient  measures  were  resolved  on  by  the  ministry,  and 
the  prisoners,  instead  of  being  tried  for  treason,  ordered  back  to  their 
own  country. 

During  this  compulsory  stay  in  England,  Allen  had  been  visited 
by  many  persons.  His  appearance,  at  this  time,  was  peculiar  even 
to  grotesqueness.  When  captured,  he  had  on  a  Canadian  dress, 
consisting  of  a  jacket  of  fawn  skin,  vest  and  breeches  of  sagathy, 
worsted  stockings,  shoes,  and  a  red  worsted  cap ;  and  this  dress, 
from  poverty,  he  still  wore.  On  the  return  voyage,  however,  the 
vessel  stopped  at  Cork,  where  the  humanity  of  the  inhabitants  fur- 
nished him  with  a  suit  of  clothes  and  some  money.  The  captain  of 
the  ship,  on  seeing  Allen,  for  the  first  time,  come  on  deck,  ordered 
him  to  leave  it,  saying  it  was  a  place  only  "  for  gentlemen  to  walk." 
Two  days  after,  however,  having  shaved  and  arranged  his  dress, 
Allen  boldly  appeared  again  on  deck,  when  the  captain  demanded 
harshly  if  he  had  forgotten  the  order.  Allen  said  that  he  had  heard 
such  an  order,  but  as  he  had  also  heard  that  "  the  deck  was  the 
place  for  gentlemen  to  walk,"  he,  being  a  gentleman,  claimed  the 
privilege  of  his  rank.  The  captain,  uttering  an  oath,  cautioned  the 
prisoner  never  to  be  seen  on  the  same  side  of  the  ship  as  himself, 
and  turned  on  his  heel ;  and  Allen  took  good  care  afterwards  to 
avoid  his  tyrant,  when  availing  himself  of  this  tacit  privilege  to 
breathe  the  fresh  air. 

The  prisoners  were  first  carried  to  New  York,  and  afterwards  to 
Halifax,  where,  confined  in  a  sloop,  with  scanty  provisions,  the 


ETHAN    ALLEN.  249 

scurvy  broke  out  among  them.  In  vain  Allen  wrote  to  his  tyrants, 
soliciting  medical  aid  :  nothing  moved  their  obdurate  hearts.  Finally 
the  guard  was  bribed  to  carry  a  letter  to  the  Governor.  This  pro- 
cured some  amelioration  in  their  condition,  as  it  obtained  for  them 
the  assistance  of  a  surgeon,  and  was  the  means  of  changing  their 
quarters  from  the  prison-ship  to  the  town-jail.  Congress,  as  well  as 
the  Legislature  of  his  native  state,  Connecticut,  were  now  actively 
engaged  in  negotiating  the  exchange  of  Allen  and  his  unfortunate 
companions.  The  prisoners  were  put  on  board  the  Lark  frigate  and 
carried  to  New  York.  On  this  passage  Allen  was  honorably  treated 
by  the  captain,  a  kindness  which  he  rewarded  by  preventing  a  con- 
spiracy among  the  prisoners  to  seize  the  ship.  At  New  York  he 
was  admitted  to  his  parole,  but  his  heart  was  pained  by  seeing  the 
sufferings  of  his  fellow  countrymen,  captured  at  Fort  Washington 
and  Long  Island,  who  were  huddled  into  the  churches,  and  other 
places,  and  left  to  perish  there  of  hunger,  cold  and  disease,  an  indeli- 
ble stain  on  the  memory  of  Sir  William  Howe.  On  one  occasion 
Allen  himself,  on  a  false  charge  of  infringing  his  parole,  was  cast 
into  prison,  and  denied  food  for  three  days.  Finally,  on  the  3rd  of 
May,  1778,  he  was  exchanged  for  Lieutenant-Colonel  Campbell,  and 
found  himself,  after  his  incredible  sufferings,  once  more  free. 

His  first  object  was  to  repair  to  the  camp  at  Valley  Forge,  in  order 
in  person  to  thank  General  Washington  for  the  efforts  of  the  Com- 
mander-in-chief to  procure  his  liberation.  He  then  turned  his  steps 
homeward,  to  his  darling  Vermont,  where  his  return  was  hailed  as 
a  season  of  festivity.  Congress,  meantime,  not  unmindful  of  his  suf- 
ferings and  services,  granted  him  a  brevet  commission  of  Colonel  in 
the  continental  army ;  arid,  moreover,  resolved  that  he  should  be 
entitled  to  the  pay  and  other  emoluments  of  a  Lieutenant-Colonel, 
for  the  period  he  was  a  prisoner.  Allen,  however,  did  not  serve,  at 
any  time  after  this,  against  the  common  enemy ;  for  the  feud  between 
his  state  and  New  York  had  again  broken  out,  and  his  time  was 
now  monopolized  by  this  controversy. 

During  his  absence,  the  inhabitants  of  the  New  Hampshire  grants 
had  formed  a  constitution,  and  declared  their  territory  an  indepen- 
dent state,  under  the  name  of  Vermont.  There  were  still  many 
persons  in  New  York  who  regarded  this  as  robbing  that  common- 
wealth of  part  of  her  land  ;  and  who  resisted  it  accordingly.  Allen 
returned  at  an  opportune  moment.  The  Governor  of  New  York 
had  just  issued  a  proclamation,  containing  overtures  for  a  peaceable 
adjustment  of  the  controversy.  His  proposition  was  that  the  patents 
granted  by  New  Hampshire  should  be  confirmed,  but  that  the  pur- 
32 


250  THE    HEROES    OP    THE    REVOLUTION. 

chasers  should  continue  to  pay  a  quit  rent  as  under  the  old  colonial 
system,  and  that  the  unsettled  lands  were  to  be  the  property  of  New 
York.  Through  the  influence  of  Allen,  these  terms  were  rejected. 
In  his  opinion  any  proposal  which  did  not  imply  the  entire  indepen- 
dence of  Vermont  as  a  state  was  to  be  refused. 

The  controversy  continued  for  several  years,  and,  at  one  time, 
reached  so  threatening  a  point  that  the  British  ministry  believed 
Vermont  might  be  induced  to  return  to  her  allegiance.  Informal 
overtures  to  this  end  were  even  made  to  Allen,  who,  on  his  part, 
allowed  the  enemy  to  continue  deceived,  and  thus  secured  for  Ver- 
mont the  benefits  of  a  neutrality  during  the  remainder  of  the  war. 
The  coldness  with  which  Congress  had  regarded  the  claims  of  Ver- 
mont, was  alleged  by  Allen  as  his  defence  for  this  conduct.  He  and 
his  friends  looked  on  Vermont  as  an  independent  commonwealth, 
having  the  right  to  make  war  or  peace  without  consulting  the  con- 
federated states.  Her  position  was,  indeed,  that  of  a  nation  in  rebel- 
lion against  the  united  colonies,  which  were  themselves  in  rebellion 
against  the  parent  state — a  wheel  within  a  wheel !  We  leave  it  for 
casuists  to  assail  or  defend  his  conduct. 

When  the  insurrection  in  Massachusetts  broke  out,  Allen  was  soli- 
cited by  Shays  and  his  associates,  to  take  command  of  the  re  volte  rs; 
but  this  proposition  he  indignantly  rejected ;  at  the  same  time  he 
wrote  a  letter  to  the  Governor  of  Massachusetts,  in  which  he  assured 
that  officer  that  none  of  the  insurgents  should  be  abetted  by  Vermont. 
The  purity  of  his  patriotism  was  proved  by  another  circumstance. 
Learning  that  one  of  his  brothers  had  become  a  tory,  he  petitioned 
the  court  to  confiscate  the  offender's  property. 

Allen  died  by  a  stroke  of  apoplexy,  at  Burlington,  Vermont,  in 
1789.  He  had  been  twice  married.  His  second  wife,  and  his  chil- 
dren by  both  wives,  survived  him. 


WILLIAM    MOULTRIE. 


ILLIAM  Moultrie,  a  Major- 
General  in  the  continental 
army,  was  born  at  Charles- 
ton, South  Carolina,  in  1731. 
He  was  early  distinguished 
for  coolness  and  intrepidity 
i  in  danger.  The  Indian  wars 
were,  at  that  period,  the  ordi- 
nary school  of  the  young  American  soldier ;  and  Moultrie  first  "  en- 
tered the  field  of  Mars,"  to  use  his  own  expression,  in  the  campaign 
of  1761,  where  he  commanded  a  company,  of  which  Marion  was 
Lieutenant.  This  was  the  year  when  the  Indian  settlements,  beyond 
the  pass  of  Etchoee,  were  laid  waste  with  fire  and  sword.  For 
thirty  days  the  ravages  continued :  the  towns  were  given  to  the 
flames,  the  corn-fields  made  desolate,  and  the  heart  of  that  once 
proud  nation  of  aborigines  broken  forever.  On  his  return  from  this 

251 


252  THE  HEROES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 

f 

expedition,  Moultrie  retired  into  private  life ;  but  when  the  tempest 
of  the  Revolution  began  to  gather,  he  offered  himself  to  the  service 
of  his  country.  The  citizens  of  South  Carolina,  entering  at  once, 
and  enthusiastically,  into  the  measures  of  resistance  proposed  by 
Massachusetts  and  the  other  colonies,  summoned  a  provincial  Con- 
gress, which  met  at  Charleston,  on  the  llth  of  January,  1775.  In 
this  body  the  boldest  sentiments  were  encouraged,  and  the  associa- 
tion recommended  by  the  general  Congress,  warmly  subscribed. 
Moultrie  was  an  active  member  of  the  provincial  Congress. 

When  the  news  of  the  battle  of  Lexington  reached  Charleston, 
South  Carolina  rose  in  commotion.  The  provincial  Congress,  which 
had  adjourned,  immediately  re-assembled.  Two  regiments  of  foot 
and  one  of  horse  were  ordered  to  be'raised ;  measures  were  taken 
to  procure  powder ;  and  every  preparation  made  for  the  war  which 
was  now  seen  to  be  inevitable.  Moultrie  was  offered",  and  accepted 
the  command  of  one  of  the  regiments  of  foot.  He  soon  proved  him- 
self a  prudent,  but  active  officer.  The  intrigues  of  the  lories,  espe- 
cially in  the  district  of  Ninety-six,  where  they  assumed  arms  in  large 
numbers,  first  gave  active  employment  to  the  patriots  of  South  Caro- 
lina ;  but  a  danger,  of  a  more  vital  character,  speedily  threatened 
them.  This  was  the  invasion  of  their  state  by  the  British,  a  project 
which  had  long  been  entertained  by  the  royal  Generals.  To  provide 
in  time  for  defeating  it,  Congress  had  despatched  General  Lee  to  the 
south.  It  was  not  until  the  beginning  of  the  summer  of  1776,  how- 
ever, that  the  enemy's  armament  set  sail  from  New  York,  consisting 
of  a  large  fleet  of  transports  with  a  competent  land  force,  commanded 
by  Sir  Henry  Clinton,  and  attended  by  a  squadron  of  nine  men-of- 
war,  led  by  Sir  Peter  Parker.  On  the  arrival  of  this  expedition  off 
the  coast,  all  was  terror  and  confusion  among  the  South  Carolinians. 
Energetic  measures  were  at  once  adopted  to  repel  the  attack. 

To  defend  their  capital  the  inhabitants  had  constructed  on  Sulli- 
van's Island,  near  the  entrance  of  their  harbor,  and  about  four  miles 
from  the  city,  a  rude  fort  of  palmetto  logs,  the  command  of  which 
was  given  to  Col.  Moultrie.  Never,  perhaps,  was  a  more  inartificial 
defence  relied  on  in  so  great  an  emergency.  The  form  of  the  fort 
was  square,  with  a  bastion  at  each  angle  ;  it  was  built  of  logs  laid 
on  each  other  in  parallel  rows,  at  a  distance  of  sixteen  feet  apart.  Other 
logs  were  bound  together  at  frequent  intervals  with  timber  dove- 
tailed and  bolted  into  them.  The  spaces  between  were  filled  up  with 
sand.  The  merlons  were  faced  with  palmetto  logs.  All  the  indus- 
try of  the  Carolinians,  however,  was  insufficient  to  complete  the  fort 
in  time ;  and  when  the  British  fleet  entered  the  harbor,  the  defences 


WILLIAM    MOULTRIE.  253 

consisted  of  little  more  than  a  single  front  facing  the  water.  The 
force  of  Col.  Moultrie  was  four  hundred  and  thirty-five,  rank  and 
file  ;  his  armament  consisted  of  nine  French  twenty-sixes,  fourteen 
English  eighteens,  nine  twelve  and  seven  nine  pounders.  Finding 
the  fort  could  be  easily  enfiladed,  Gen.  Lee  advised  abandoning  it ; 
but  the  Governor  refused,  telling  Moultrie  to  keep  his  post,  until  he 
himself  ordered  the  retreat.  Moultrie,  on  his  part  required  no  urging 
to  adopt  this  more  heroic  course.  A  spectator  happening  to  say,  that 
in  half  an  hour  the  enemy  would  knock  the  fort  to  pieces,  "Then," 
replied  Moultrie,  undauntedly,  "  we  will  lie  behind  the  ruins,  and 
prevent  their  men  from  landing."  Lee  with  many  fears  left  the  Island, 
and  repairing  to  his  camp  on  the  main  land,  prepared  to  cover  the 
retreat  of  the  garrison,  which  he  considered  inevitable. 

There  was,  perhaps,  more  of  bravado  than  of  sound  military  pol- 
icy in  attacking  this  fort  at  all,  since  the  English  fleet  might  easily 
have  run  the  gauntlet  of  it,  as  was  done  a  few  years  later.  But 
Fort  Moultrie  was  destined  to  be  to  the  navy  what  Bunker  Hill  had 
been  to  the  Army.  It  was  in  consequence  of  excess  of  scorn  for 
his  enemy,  that  Sir  Peter  Parker,  disdaining  to  leave  such  a  place  in 
his  rear,  resolved  on  its  total  demolition.  He  had  no  doubt  but  that, 
in  an  hour  at  the  utmost,  he  could  make  the  unpractised  Carolinians 
glad  to  sue  for  peace  on  any  terms.  Accordingly,  on  the  28th  of 
June,  1776,  he  entered  the  harbor,  in  all  the  parade  of  his  proud 
ships,  nine  in  number,  and  drawing  up  abreast  the  fort,  let  go  his 
anchors  with  springs  upon  the  cables,  and  began  a  furious  cannonade. 
Meanwhile,  terror  reigned  in  Charleston.  As  the  sound  of  the  first 
gun  went  booming  over  the  waters  towards  the  town,  the  trembling 
inhabitants,  who  had  been  crowding  the  wharves  and  lining  the 
house-tops  since  early  morning,  turned  pale  with  ominous  forebodings. 
Nor  were  the  feelings  of  the  defenders  of  the  fort,  less  anxious.  Look- 
ing off,  over  the  low  Island  intervening  between  them  and  the  city, 
they  could  see  the  gleaming  walls  of  their  distant  homes;  and  their 
imaginations  conjured  up  the  picture  of  those  dear  habitations  given 
to  the  flames,  as  another  Charlestown  had  been,  twelve  months  before, 
and  the  still  dearer  wives  that  inhabited  them,  cast  houseless  upon 
the  world.  As  they  turned  from  this  spectacle,  and  watched  the 
haughty  approach  of  the  enemy,  his  every  motion  betraying  confi 
dence  of  success,  their  eyes  kindled  with  indignant  feelings,  and  they 
silently  swore  to  make  good  the  words  of  their  leader,  by  perishing, 
if  need  were,  under  the  ruins  of  the  fort. 

One  by  one  the  British    men-of-war  gallantly  approached  the 
stations  assigned  them,  Sir  Peter  Parker,  in  the  Bristol,  leading  the 

w 


THE  HEROES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 

van.  The  Experiment,  another  fifty  gun  ship,  came  close  after, 
and  both  dropped  their  anchors  in  succession  directly  abreast  the  fort. 
The  other  frigates  followed,  and  ranged  themselves  as  supports.  The 
remaining  vessels  were  still  working  up  to  their  stations,  when  the 
first  gun  was  fired,  and  instantly  the  battle  begun.  The  quantity  of 
powder  on  the  Island  being  small,  five  thousand  pounds  in  all, 
there  was  an  absolute  necessity  that  there  should  be  no  waste.  Ac- 
cordingly, the  field  officers  pointed  the  pieces  in  person,  and  the 
words  "look  to  the  Commodore — look  to  the  two-deckers  !"  passed 
along  the  line.  The  conflict  soon  grew  terrific.  The  balls  whistled 
above  the  heads  of  the  defenders,  and  bombs  fell  thick  and  fast 
within  the  fort ;  yet,  in  the  excitement  of  the  moment,  the  men  seem- 
ed totally  unconscious  of  danger.  The  fight  deepened.  Occa- 
sionally a  shot  from  one  of  the  cannon,  striking  the  hull  of  the  flag 
ship,  would  send  the  splinters  flying  into  the  air  ;  and  then  a  loud 
huzza  would  burst  from  those  who  worked  the  guns ;  but,  except  in 
instances  like  this,  the  patriots  fought  in  stern  and  solemn  silence. 
Once,  when  it  was  seen  that  the  three  men-of-war  working  up  to 
join  the  conflict,  had  become  entangled  among  the  shoals,  and  would 
not  probably  be  enabled  to  join  in  the  fight,  a  general  and  prolonged 
cheer  went  down  the  line,  and  taken  up  a  second  and  third  time, 
rose,  like  an  exulting  strain,  over  all  the  uproar  of  the  battle. 

The  incessant  cannonade  soon  darkened  the  prospect,  the  smoke 
lying  packed  along  the  surface  of  the  water ;  while  a  thousand  fiery 
tongues,  as  from  some  hundred  headed  monster,  shot  out  inces- 
santly, and  licking  the  air  a  moment,  were  gone  forever.  Occasionally 
this  thick,  cloudy  veil  concealed  all  but  the  spars  of  the  enemy  from 
sight,  and  then  the  tall  masts  seemed  rising,  by  some  potent  spell, 
out  of  nothing  ;  occasionally  the  terrific  explosions  Avould  rend  and 
tear  asunder  the  curtain,  and,  for  an  instant,  the  black  hulls  would 
loom  out  threateningly,  and  then  disappear.  The  roar  of  three  hun- 
dred guns  shook  the  Island  and  fort  unremittingly  :  the  water  that 
washed  the  sand  beach,  gasped  with  a  quick  ebb  and  flow,  under 
the  concussions.  Higher  and  higher,  the  sun  mounted  to  the  zenith, 
yet  still  the  battle  continued.  The  heat  was  excessive  ;  but  casting 
aside  their  coats,  the  men  breathed  themselves  a  minute,  and  return- 
ed to  the  fight.  The  city  was  now  hidden  from  view,  by  low  banks 
of  smoke,  which  extending  right  and  left  along  the  water,  bounded 
the  horizon  on  two  sides.  Yet  the  defenders  of  the  fort  still  thought 
of  the  thousands  anxiously  watching  them  from  Charleston,  or  of  the 
wives  and  mothers,  trembling  at  every  explosion  for  the  lives  of 
those  they  loved.  One  of  their  number  soon  fell  mortally  wounded. 


WILLIAM    MOULTRIE.  255 

Gasping  and  in  agony,  he  was  carried  by.  "  Do  not  give  up,"  he 
had  still  strength  to  say  ;  "  you  are  fighting  for  liberty  and  country." 
Who  that  heard  these  words  could  think  of  surrender  ? 

Noon  came  and  went,  and  still  the  awful  struggle  continued. 
Suddenly  a  shot  struck  the  flag-staff,  and  the  banner,  which  had 
waved  in  that  lurid  atmosphere  all  day,  proudly  overhead,  fell  on 
the  beach  outside  the  fort.  For  a  moment  there  was  a  pause,  as  if 
at  a  presage  of  disaster.  Then  a  soldier,  the  brave  and  immortal 
Serjeant  Jasper,  sprang  upon  the  parapet,  leaped  down  to  the  beach, 
and  passing  along  nearly  the  whole  front  of  the  fort,  exposed  to  the 
full  fire  of  the  enemy,  deliberately  cut  off  the  bunting  from  the  shat- 
tered mast,  called  for  a  sponge  staff  to  be  thrown  to  him,  and  tying 
the  flag  to  this,  clambered  up  the  ramparts  and  replaced  the  banner, 
amid  the  cheers  of  his  companions.  Far  away,  in  the  city,  there 
had  been  those  who  saw,  through  their  telescopes,  the  fall  of  that 
flag ;  and,  as  the  news  went  around,  a  chill  of  horror  froze  every 
heart,  for  it  was  thought  the  place  had  surrendered.  But  soon  a 
slight  staff  was  seen  uplifted  at  one  of  the  angles :  it  bore,  clinging 
to  it,  something  like  bunting :  the  breeze  struck  it,  the  bundle 
unrolled,  it  was  the  flag  of  America  !  Hope  danced  again  through 
every  heart.  Some  burst  into  tears ;  some  laughed  hysterically ; 
some  gave  way  to  outcries  and  huzzas  of  delight.  As  the  hours 
wore  on,  however,  new  causes  for  apprehension  arose.  The  fire  of 
the  fort  was  perceived  to  slacken.  Could  it  be  that  its  brave  defend- 
ers, after  such  a  glorious  struggle,  had  at  last  given  in  ?  Again 
hope  yielded  to  doubt,  almost  to  despair ;  the  feeling  was  the  more 
terrible  from  the  late  exhilaration.  Already,  in  fancy,  the  enemy 
was  seen  approaching  the  city.  Wives  began  to  tremble  for  their 
husbands,  who  had  rendered  themselves  conspicuous  on  the  patriotic 
side :  mothers  clasped  their  infants,  whose  sires,  they  thought,  had 
perished  in  the  fight,  and,  in  silent  agony,  prayed  God  to  protect  the 
fatherless.  Thus  passed  an  hour  of  the  wildest  anxiety  and  alarm. 
At  last  intelligence  was  brought  that  the  fire  had  slackened  only  for 
want  of  powder ;  that  a  supply  had  since  been  secured ;  and  that 
the  cannonade  would  soon  be  resumed.  In  a  short  time  these  pre- 
dictions were  verified,  and  the  air  again  shook  with  distant  concus- 
sions. Thus  the  afternoon  passed.  Sunset  approached,  yet  the 
fight  raged.  Slowly  the  great  luminary  of  day  sank  in  the  west,  and 
twilight,  cold  and  calm,  threw  its  shadows  across  the  waters ;  yet 
still  the  fight  raged.  The  stars  came  out,  twinkling  sharp  and  clear, 
in  that  half  tropical  sky :  yet  still  the  fight  raged.  The  hum  of  the 
day  had  now  subsided,  and  the  cicada  was  heard  trilling  its  note 


256  THE  HEROES  OP  THE  REVOLUTION. 

on  the  night  air :  all  was  quiet  and  serene  in  the  city :  yet  still  the 
fight  raged.  The  dull,  heavy  reports  of  the  distant  artillery  boomed 
louder  across  the  water,  and  the  dark  curtain  of  smoke  that  nearly 
concealed  the  ships  and  fort,  grew  luminous  with  incessant  flashes. 
The  fight  still  raged.  At  last  the  frequency  of  the  discharges  per- 
ceptibly lessened,  and  gradually,  towards  ten  o'clock,  ceased  alto- 
gether. The  ships  of  the  enemy  were  now  seen  moving  from  their 
position,  and  making  their  way  slowly,  as  if  crippled  and  weary,  out 
of  the  harbor :  and,  at  that  sight,  most  of  the  population,  losing  their 
anxiety,  returned  to  their  dwellings ;  though  crowds  still  lined 
some  of  the  wharves,  waiting  for  authentic  messengers  from  the 
fight,  and  peering  into  the  gathering  gloom,  to  detect  the  approach 
of  the  first  boat. 

The  loss  of  the  enemy  had  been  excessive.  The  flag-ship,  the 
Bristol,  had  forty -four  men  killed,  and  thirty  wounded :  the  Experi- 
ment, another  fifty  gun  ship,  fifty-seven  killed,  and  thirty  wounded. 
All  the  ships  were  much  cut  up  :  the  two  deckers  terribly  so  ;  and 
one  of  the  frigates,  the  Acteon,  running  aground,  was  burnt.  The 
last  shot  fired  from  the  fort  entered  the  cabin  of  Sir  Peter  Parker's 
ship,  cut  down  two  young  officers  who  were  drinking  there,  and 
passing  forwards,  killed  three  sailors  on  the  main  deck,  then  passed 
out,  and  buried  itself  in  the  sea.  The  loss  on  the  American  side 
was  inconsiderable  :  twelve  killed,  and  about  twenty-five  wounded. 
During  the  battle,  the  earnest  zeal  of  the  men  was  occasionally 
relieved  by  moments  of  merriment.  A  coat,  having  been  thrown 
on  the  top  of  one  of  the  merlons,  was  caught  by  a  shot,  and  lodged 
in  a  tree,  at  which  sight  a  general  peal  of  laughter  was  heard. 
Moultrie  sat  coolly  smoking  during  the  conflict,  occasionally  taking* 
his  pipe  from  his  mouth  to  issue  an  order.  Once,  while  the 
battle  was  in  progress,  General  Lee  came  off  to  the  island,  but, 
finding  everything  so  prosperous,  soon  returned  to  his  camp.  The 
supply  of  powder  which  was  obtained  during  the  conflict,  and  which 
enabled  the  patriots  to  resume  the  fight,  was  procured,  part  from  a 
schooner  in  the  harbor,  part  from  the  city.  Unbounded  enthusiasm, 
on  the  side  of  the  inhabitants,  hailed  the  gallant  defenders  of  the 
fort  after  the  victory  :  Moultrie  received  the  thanks  of  Congress,  was 
elevated  to  the  rank  of  Brigadier-General,  and  was  honored  by 
having  the  post  he  had  defended  called  after  his  name.  A  stand  of 
colors  was  presented,  by  Mrs.  Elliott,  to  the  men  of  his  regiment, 
with  the  belief,  she  said,  "  that  they  would  stand  by  them,  as  long 
as  they  could  wave  in  the  air  of  liberty."  It  was  in  guarding  these 
colors,  that  the  brave  Serjeant  Jasper,  subsequently,  lost  his  life. 


.  WILLIAM    MOULTRIE.  257 

The  repulse  from  Fort  Moultrie  induced  the  British  to  abandon 
their  designs  on  South  Carolina ;  and,  for  three  years,  that  province 
was  exempt  from  the  ravages  of  war.  At  length,  in  1779,  after  the 
successful  invasion  of  Georgia,  the  royal  army  turned  its  attention 
to  the  neighboring  province,  and  General  Moultrie  was  once  more 
called  into  active  service.  The  campaign  that  followed  may  be 
described  in  a  few  words.  At  Beaufort,  in  South  Carolina,  whither 
the  enemy  had  advanced,  Moultrie  met  him  in  a  drawn  battle.  Lin- 
coln, finding  the  militia  refractory,  in  chagrin  transferred  their  com- 
mand to  Moultrie,  and,  at  the  head  of  two  thousand  troops,  advanced 
towards  Augusta.  Meantime,  General  Ashe  had  been  defeated  at 
Brier's  Creek.  Prevost  now  crossed  the  Savannah,  and,  driving 
Moultrie  before  him,  advanced,  by  rapid  marches,  on  the  capital  of 
South  Carolina ;  the  hero  of  this  biography,  powerless  to  check  his 
victorious  career,  hurrying  to  save  Charleston,  as  all  that  remained 
to  be  done  in  this  extremity.  Here  Moultrie  found  every  one  in 
consternation.  Even  the  surrender  of  the  city  was  projected ;  but 
happily,  the  firmness  of  Governor  Rutledge  averted  this.  The  yeo- 
manry and  citizens  were  aroused  for  the  crisis,  and  the  town  placed 
in  a  state  of  defence.  Prevost,  advancing  to  the  lines,  was  arrested 
by  the  American  fire.  He  summoned  the  place,  and  received  a 
defiance.  The  night  was  spent  in  dismal  forebodings  by  the  people 
of  Charleston :  only  Moultrie  and  a  few  other  bold  spirits  were  cool 
and  resolute.  When  morning  dawned,  the  enemy  had  disappeared, 
the  want  of  artillery,  and  the  news  of  Lincoln's  approach,  having  led 
him  to  abandon  the  siege,  and  begin  a  precipitate  retreat  to  Georgia. 
The  fortunes  of  war  had  again  changed  :  the  pursuers  were  now  the 
pursued  ;  and,  with  high  spirits,  Moultrie  found  himself  in  the  field 
once  more  on  the  aggressive.  Prevost  had  retired  to  an  island  in 
the  vicinity  of  Charleston,  establishing  himself  in  a  strong  fort  at 
Stono  Ferry.  Here  he  was  assailed  by  Lincoln,  and  afterwards  by 
Moultrie  in  galleys ;  both  times  with  spirit,  but  without  success. 
The  British,  finding  their  position  growing  more  perilous,  retreated 
along  the  chain  of  islands  on  the  coast,  until  they  reached  Beaufort, 
and  finally  Savannah.  Here  they  were  followed  by  Lincoln,  who  esta- 
blished himself  at  Sheldon  to  watch  his  enemy.  In  September,  the 
Count  d'Estaing  arrived,  when  the  allied  forces  determined  to  storm 
Savannah.  A  melancholy  and  terrible  repulse  happened.  Moul- 
trie, having  long  since  returned  to  Charleston,  was  spared  the  morti- 
fication of  sharing  in  this  affair. 

Moultrie  had  received  the  commission  of  a  Major-General,  on  the 
continental  establishment,  during  the  progress  of  this  campaign,  a 
33  w* 


258  THE  HEROES  OP  THE  REVOLUTION. 

high  testimony  to  his  military  abilities,  and  proving  the  estimation 
in  which  he  was  held  by  Congress.  In  the  succeeding  year,  on  the 
third  invasion  of  South  Carolina,  he  rendered  most  important  ser- 
vices; although  he,  like  his  superior,  Lincoln,  appears  to  have  placed 
an  undue  importance  on  the  preservation  of  the  capital.  This  feeling, 
however,  was  shared  by  all  classes  in  the  Carolinas  ;  and,  perhaps, 
it  would  have  been  impossible  for  any  General  to  have  resisted  it. 
Moultrie  was  particularly  active  in  the  defence  of  Charleston.  But 
it  was  in  vain.  Sir  Henry  Clinton,  with  his  overwhelming  force,  put 
effectual  resistance  out  of  the  question,  especially  after  the  supplies, 
promised  from  the  north,  failed  to  arrive  to  assist  the  besieged.  On 
the  12th  of  May,  1780,  the  capital  of  South  Carolina  surrendered; 
and  the  officers  and  men  of  the  army  of  Lincoln  became  prisoners 
of  war.  Moultrie  was  one  of  the  most  unfortunate  of  the  victims  of 
this  capitulation  ;  for  he  remained  a  prisoner,  there  being  no  officer 
to  exchange  for  him,  until  the  war  had  nearly  terminated.  He  had 
consequently  no  further  opportunity  to  distinguish  himself ;  and  was 
prevented  from  participating  in  the  glorious  struggle  subsequently 
carried  on  by  Marion,  Lee,  Sumpter  and  others  !  Had  he  been  free, 
judging  from  his  past  career,  he  would  have  been  one  of  the  most 
intrepid  in  that  sanguinary  strife. 

The  chief  characteristic  of  Moultrie  as  a  military  leader  was  his 
coolness  in  moments  of  danger.  No  crisis,  however  terrible,  could 
shake  his  self-possession.  His  smoking  his  pipe  during  the  cannon- 
ade at  Sullivan's  Island ;  his  easy  indifference  when  the  magazine 
in  Charleston  was  expected  to  take  fire  and  blow  up  the  town ;  and 
his  invariable  collectedness  in  every  emergency,  where  great  peril 
threatened  him,  establish  his  possession  of  this  quality  and  in  its 
highest  perfection.  This  was  his  distinguishing  trait.  Besides  this, 
he  had  prudence,  sagacity,  and  the  power  of  attaching  to  himself  his 
troops.  He  does  riot,  however,  appear  to  have  enjoyed  either  the 
headlong  bravery  of  Wayne,  or  the  comprehensive  intellect  of 
Greene.  His  courage  was  chivalrous, but  not  terrible  like  Putnam's: 
his  views  just,  but  not  eagle-eyed  like  those  of  Washington.  The 
great  event  of  his  career  was  the  defence  of  Fort  Sullivan :  and  this 
will  render  his  name  immortal ! 

His  public  services,  after  the  peace  of  1783,  were  few  and  com- 
paratively unimportant.  He  was  a  man  of  warm  affections,  and 
generally  beloved :  his  dependants  worshipped  him  almost  to  adora- 
tion. He  filled  the  office  of  Governor  of  his  native  state ;  and  died 
at  Charleston,  on  the  27th  day  of  September,  1805. 


LORD    STIRLING. 


ILLIAM  Alexander,  by  courtesy 
^  called  Lord  Stirling,  a  Major-Ge- 
3  neral  in  the  continental  line,  was 
r  born  in  the  city  of  New  York,  in 
the  year  1726.  He  received  as 
'-.  excellent  an  education  as  the 
country,  at  that  time,  could  af- 
|'jl  ford,  and  was  early  distinguish- 
ed for  that  mathematical  ability 
which  subsequently  made  him  so 
ardent  an  admirer  of  science. — 
When  the  French  war  broke  out, 
he  entered  the  army.  He  acted 
as  Commissary,  as  Aid-de-camp,  and  finally  as  Secretary  to  Gover- 
nor Shirley.  At  the  close  of  the  contest  he  accompanied  his  patron 
to  England,  in  order  to  prosecute  his  claims  to  a  Scotch  earldom  of 
which  he  considered  himself  the  rightful  heir ;  but,  from  the  want  of 

259 


260  THE  HEROES  OP  THE  REVOLUTION. 

some  link  in  the  testimony  necessary  to  establish  his  claim,  failed  in 
the  suit.  It  is  understood  that  the  sums  spent  in  this  vain  effort  to 
secure  a  title,  materially  impaired  his  fortune.  In  America,  how- 
ever, his  claim  was  considered  rightful,  and  he  always  bore  the 
name  of  Lord  Stirling  in  consequence. 

When  the  war  of  independence  began,  the  ability,  position  and 
wealth  of  Lord  Stirling  rendered  his  influence  of  weight ;  and  ena- 
bled him  to  obtain  a  corresponding  rank  in  the  continental  line.  He 
was  immediately  appointed  a  Colonel.  During  the  siege  of  Boston 
he  was  stationed  at  New  York.  Here  he  found  opportunity  to  dis- 
play the  natural  boldness  and  gallantry  of  his  disposition.  Fitting 
out  a  pilot-boat  and  some  smaller  craft,  and  availing  himself  of  the 
night  to  escape  the  Asia  man-of-war  which  then  lay  in  the  har- 
bor, he  put  to  sea  and  succeeded  in  capturing  an  English  transport, 
laden  with  valuable  stores  for  the  army  in  Boston. 

The  personal  appearance  of  Stirling  was  remarkably  fine.  His 
face  was  dignified ;  his  figure  tall  but  somewhat  portly  ;  and  his  man- 
ners elegant,  yet  soldierly.  As  a  General  he  was  brave  to  rashness. 
His  military  abilities  were  of  that  kind,  indeed,  that  rendered  it  more 
prudent  to  keep  him  under  the  eye  of  a  Commander-in-chief;  in  this 
respect  he  resembled  Putnam  and  others,  who  were  more  valuable 
as  executive  officers  than  when  acting  on  their  own  responsibility. 
It  was  at  Monmouth  and  Long  Island  that  he  won  his  chief  laurels. 
At  Monmouth,  when  the  battle  hung  upon  a  thread,  when  Lee  was 
retreating  after  having  made  his  last  stand,  and  Clinton  was  pouring 
down  his  victorious  legions  on  Washington's  left  wing,  he  placed 
himself  at  the  head  of  Lieutenant  Carrington's  artillery,  and  dashing 
at  full  gallop  to  the  brow  of  an  elevation  that  commanded  the  advanc- 
ing columns  of  the  enemy,  hastily  unlimbered  the  guns  and  opened 
so  terrible  a  fire,  that  the  assailants  wavered,  and  finally  fell  back. 
At  Long  Island  he  held  command  of  the  right  wing.  As  he  played 
a  conspicuous  part  here,  we  shall  describe  the  battle  at  some  length. 

Brooklyn  stands  on  a  knob  of  land  as  it  were,  formed  by  the  in- 
dentations of  Wallabout  and  Gouverneur's  bays,  which,  at  the  dis- 
tance of  a  mile  and  a  half  from  the  heights,  approaching  each  other, 
reduce  its  width  one  half.  Across  this  isthmus,  the  ground  of  which 
is  elevated,  a  line  of  defences  was  drawn,  commanding  all  the  ap- 
proaches from  the  interior,  and  from  the  northern  and  southern 
shores  of  the  island.  In  the  rear,  the  works  were  protected  by  bat- 
teries on  Governor's  Island  and  Red  Hook,  and  by  other  batteries  on 
the  East  river,  which  kept  open  the  communication  with  the  main 
army  in  New  York.  In  front,  these  roads  radiated  from  the  lines, 


LORD    STIRLING.  261 

like  spokes  from  the  hub  of  a  wheel,  and  crossed  a  range  of  wooded 
heights,  nearly  four  miles  distant,  which,  to  carry  out  the  simile, 
formed  the  felloe.  Between  these  heights  and  the  lines  the  battle 
was  fought.  The  two  roads  nearest  the  Narrows  were  defended  pro- 
perly, but  the  upper  one  was  left  with  an  insufficient  guard ;  here 
Clinton  crossed  undetected,  and  pouring  down  into  the  plain  beyond, 
while  his  colleagues  made  a  feint  of  forcing  the  two  other  passes,  had 
nearly  cut  off  the  Americans  from  their  lines,  when  happily  his  ap- 
proach was  discovered,  and  a  portion,  after  a  desperate  encounter, 
succeeded  in  gaining  their  entrenchments. 

Stirling,  on  this  fatal  day,  directed  the  right  wing,  which  number- 
ed about  two-thirds  of  those  engaged  in  the  battle.  The  Comman- 
der-in-chief outside  the  lines  was  Sullivan.  Putnam,  the  superior  of 
all,  remained  within  the  redoubts.  He  had  been  sent  to  supersede 
Greene,  when  the  latter  was  suddenly  taken  ill.  Putnam  first  went 
over  to  Brooklyn  on  Sunday,  the  25th  of  August,  1776,  and  the 
battle  was  fought  two  days  after ;  hence  the  ignorance  at  head- 
quarters respecting  the  ground,  and  the  neglect  properly  to  fortify 
the  upper  pass.  The  general  impression  was  that  the  English  would 
attempt  to  force  a  passage  across  the  hills  at  the  lower  road ;  and  it 
was  in  consequence  of  this  that  Stirling's  command  preponderated 
so  greatly  over  that  of  Sullivan. 

Having  given  this  general  outline  of  the  battle,  let  us  proceed  to 
speak  more  in  detail.  The  two  armies  were  separated  by  a  range 
of  wooded  hills,  which  were  impassable  for  artillery  and  cavalry, 
except  by  the  three  principal  roads.  The  chief  one  of  these  ran,  in 
nearly  a  straight  line  from  Flatbush  to  the  American  entrenchments, 
four  miles  distant.  Another  road,  conducting  northwardly  of  this, 
now  called  the  Clove  road,  led  through  a  second  pass  to  Bedford  vil- 
lage in  the  plain.  A  more  circuitous  route  took  its  way  through  a 
pass  on  the  north,  and  joined  the  road  from  Jamaica  to  Bedford. 
There  was  another  pass,  close  to  the  Narrows,  running  from  New 
Utrecht  over  the  hills  into  the  plain.  All  these  roads  met  in  the  plain 
about  half  a  mile  without  the  lines.  The  latter  pass)  as  we  have 
said,  was  defended  by  Stirling,  with  much  the  largest  portion  of  the 
American  army.  The  pass,  leading  across  from  Flatbush,  was  held 
by  Sullivan,  with  a  strong  force  and  a  redoubt.  At  that  on  the  Clove 
road,  were  two  regiments  under  Colonels  Williams  and  Miles.  The 
pass  on  the  Jamaica  road  was  guarded  only  by  a  few  light 
volunteers.  It  was  by  this  that  Clinton  crossed,  his  sagacity  foresee- 
ing that  the  American  defences  would  be  weaker  here  than  at  either 
of  the  other  points. 


262  THE  HEROES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 

The  British  landed  at  the  ferry  near  the  Narrows,  on  the  22nd,  and 
marched  through  Utrecht  and  Gravesend  to  P'latbush,  back  of  which 
last  place  they  established  their  principal  encampment,  near  the  vil- 
lage of  Flatbush.  Their  centre,  composed  of  Hessians,  lay  in  front 
at  Flatbush,  in  command  of  General  De  Heister ;  while  the  left 
wing,  under  General  Grant,  extended  to  the  place  of  landing.  The 
army  remained  inactive  until  the  evening  of  the  26th,  when  it  being 
found  that  the  Americans  had  guarded  all  the  most  westerly 
passes,  Clinton  moved  in  the  direction  of  the  Jamaica  pass,  his  scouts 
having  brought  him  intelligence,  as  he  expected,  of  the  small  force 
in  that  quarter.  He  reached  it  unperceived  before  day -break,  and 
cautiously  pushing  forward,  surprised  and  captured  the  party  sta- 
tioned there.  Having  thus  secured  his  enemy  from  receiving  notice 
of  his  approach,  he  suffered  his  men  to  repose  for  awhile  from  the 
fatigues  of  their  march.  The  whole  division  accordingly  rested  on 
their  arms.  It  was  a  clear,  starlight  night,  and  the  country  in  the 
plain  below  was  just  visible  through  the  hazy  light.  The  men  strained 
their  eyes  across  it  in  search  of  the  distant  heights  of  Brooklyn  and 
the  spires  of  New  York  beyond,  and  continued  watching  for  that 
haven  of  their  hopes  until  the  stars  paled,  the  dawn  approached,  and 
the  morning  sunbeams  shot  along  the  woodland  and  cultivated  fields 
below.  Then  the  order  to  march  was  given,  and  the  troops  san- 
guine of  victory,  crossed  the  heights  and  poured  down  into  the  plain. 

Meanwhile,  immediately  after  day-light,  De  Heister  began  a  furi- 
ous cannonade  on  Sullivan,  in  order  to  direct  the  attention  of  the 
American  General  from  what  was  passing  on  his  extreme  left.  De 
Heister  did  not,  however,  advance  from  Flatbush  until  he  had 
received  intelligence  of  Clinton's  successful  passage  ;  but  when,  at 
half  past  eight,  he  learned  that  his  colleague  had  reached  Bedford 
and  thrown  forward  a  detachment  in  Sullivan's  rear,  he  charged  the 
American  redoubt  in  earnest.  The  dark  masses  of  De  Heister  were 
just  beginning  to  unwind  themselves,  like  some  glittering  anaconda, 
from  the  village  of  Flatbush,  when  a  scout  dashed,  all  in  a  foam,  into 
the  camp  of  Sullivan,  and  announced  that  Clinton  was  in  the  rear. 
In  this  terrible  crisis,  surprised,  circumvented,  defeated  already,  the 
presence  of  mind  of  Sullivan  did  not  desert  him.  He  saw  that 
but  one  hope  remained  to  him,  that  of  gaining  the  lines  at  Brooklyn 
before  his  enemy.  He  accordingly  ordered  the  troops  to  fall  back, 
through  the  woods,  by  regiments.  In  so  doing  they  encountered  the 
British  front.  At  the  same  instant,  De  Heister,  advancing  from  Flat- 
bush,  made  a  furious  assault  on  that  side.  The  coolness  of  Sullivan 
unfortunately  was  not  shared  by  his  men.  Struck  with  panic  at  hear- 


LORD    STIRLING.  263 

ing  the  firing  in  their  rear,  and  thinking  only  of  making  good  their 
escape,  they  could  not  be  induced  even  to  wait  the  first  onset  of  the 
Hessians.  In  vain  Sullivan  rode  among  them,  appealing  to  their 
patriotism;  in  vain  he  reminded  them  of  Lexington  and  Bunker 
Hill ;  in  vain  he  rushed  into  the  most  exposed  situations  to  stimulate 
them  by  his  personal  example ;  all  discipline  was  lost,  all  decency 
disregarded ;  terrified  they  turned  and  fled,  the  Hessians  thundering 
in  pursuit,  and  the  troops  of  Clinton  on  their  flank,  hastening,  with 
loud  cheers,  to  cut  off  the  fugitives. 

As  a  contrast  to  this  shameful  conduct,  the  little  band  of  men  in 
the  pass  on  the  Clove  road,  behaved  with  a  heroism  that  should  ren- 
der their  names  immortal.  The  force,  at  this  point,  was  composed 
of  a  regiment  under  Colonel  Williams,  and  another  of  Pennsylvania 
riflemen  under  Colonel  Miles.  As  soon  as  De  Heister  had  put  the 
personal  command  of  Sullivan  to  the  rout,  he  detached  a  portion  of 
his  Hessians  against  these  two  regiments.  Overpowered  by  num- 
bers, after  a  short,  but  gallant  resistance,  the  Pennsylvanians  were 
driven  back  into  the  woods.  At  the  same  time,  Clinton,  moving  to 
intercept  those  in  retreat  along  the  road  from  Flatbush,  arrived  in  the 
rear  of  these  brave  men.  Now  ensued  one  of  those  desperate 
struggles,  in  which  courage  seeks  to  make  up  for  want  of  numbers. 
Hemmed  in  on  front  and  rear  ;  now  driven  by  the  British  on  the 
Hessians,  and  now  on  the  Hessians  by  the  British,  that  little  band 
like  a  lion  turning  every  way  to  meet  its  hunters,  charged  incessantly 
on  the  foe.  Hurled  back  from  the  assault ,  they  returned  more  furi- 
ous to  the  onset.  Long  and  heroically  they  thus  struggled.  During 
the  contest  they  were  joined  by  the  remnant  of  Sullivan's  command, 
with  himself  at  its  head,  and  their  efforts  now  grew  more  desper- 
ate than  ever.  Some  forced  their  passage  through  the  solid  ranks 
of  the  enemy,  and,  fighting  all  the  way,  regained  the  lines  at  Brook- 
lyn. Some  plunging  into  the  woods,  concealed  themselves  there 
until  the  action  was  over,  and  thus  escaped.  But  the  greater  num- 
ber either  died  in  the  unavailing  struggle,  or  exhausted  by  two  hours 
of  severe  fighting,  surrendered,  at  last,  with  their  General. 

The  battle  was  now  over  in  this  quarter.  But  it  still  raged 
towards  the  American  right  where  Stirling  commanded,  and  raged, 
if  possible,  with  a  fury  greater  than  even  around  this  heroic  band ! 
Long  before  either  De  Heister  or  Clinton  had  crossed  the  wooded 
heights,  at  so  early  an  hour  indeed  as  midnight,  General  Grant,  with 
the  design  of  directing  attention  from  Clinton's  manceuvre,  advanced 
along  the  coast,  with  the  left  wing,  driving  in  the  light  out-lying  par- 
ties of  the  Americans.  As  this  was  the  point  where  the  main  assault 


264  THE  HEROES  OP  THE  REVOLUTION. 

was  expected,  these  parties  were  quite  abundant,  and  intelligence  of 
the  advance  was  immediately  communicated  to  Putnam.  This  was 
at  three  o'clock  in  the  morning.  Putnam  instantly  detached  Stir- 
ling, with  strong  reinforcements,  to  repel  this  attack.  Stirling  reached 
the  summit  of  the  hill  just  before  sunrise,  his  steps  being  hastened  by 
the  sounds  of  skirmishing  in  front.  The  first  object  that  met  his 
sight,  as  the  beams  of  the  morning  sun  illuminated  the  valley  below, 
was  the  retiring  troops  who  had  been  stationed  to  guard  the  pass, 
and  who  were  now  slowly  falling  back  before  superior  numbers. 
Promptly  uniting  his  fresh  men  to  these  wearied  ones,  he  drew  up 
his  whole  division  to  defend  the  pass.  In  a  few  minutes  the  head  of 
the  enemy's  column  appeared  in  view ;  but  at  sight  of  Stirling's 
imposing  force,  halted.  The  American  General  thought  this  the  result 
of  timidity  on  the  part  of  the  British,  and  would  have  descended  into 
the  plain  to  attack  Grant,  had  not  his  orders  restricted  him  to  defend- 
ing the  pass.  He  allowed  a  portion  of  his  infantry,  however,  to 
skirmish  with  parties  of  the  enemy  thrown  forward  for  that  purpose, 
and  meantime  grew  more  and  more  impatient  for  the  battle.  To 
amuse  his  enemy  Grant  had  opened,  at  once,  a  cannonade,  which  he 
continued  with  increasing  fury  as  the  day  wore  on.  To  this  Stirling 
replied  ;  and  soon  the  space  between  the  armies  was  covered  with 
wreaths  of  smoke  which  undulated  with  the  morning  breeze ; 
while  the  roar  of  the  artillery  continually  shook  the  ground,  boomed 
along  the  neighboring  bay,  and  echoed  far  over  the  vallies  of  Staten 
Island. 

At  last,  through  the  heavy  explosions  of  artillery,  fainter  sounds, 
borne  on  the  wind,  were  distinguishable  in  the  rear.  Stirling  listen- 
ed to  them  with  an  anxious  heart,  for  they  seemed  to  imply  that  an 
enemy  had  interposed  between  him  and  Putnam.  At  last,  what  he 
had  foreboded,  became  no  longer  doubtful.  The  British  were  behind 
him.  A  retreat,  with  all  possible  despatch,  on  the  lines  at  Brooklyn, 
was  his  sole  resource.  Only  one  route  by  which  this  could  be  effected 
lay  open  to  him ;  this  was  to  cross  Mill  Creek  below  the  swamp  ;  for 
to  retire  above,  would  bring  him  face  to  face  with  De  Heister  and 
Clinton.  Cornwallis,  however,  anticipating  this  intended  movement, 
now  hastily  pushed  on  to  the  ford,  and,  arriving  there  before  Stir- 
ling, took  his  station  at  a  house  near  the  upper  mills.  It  was  below 
this  point,  fortunately,  that  Stirling  had  resolved  to  cross  ;  but  in  order 
to  conceal  the  movement  of  his  main  body,  he  resolved  to  occupy 
the  attention  of  Cornwallis  by  attacking  him  with  a  portion  of  his 
force.  Accordingly  he  selected  six  companies  of  Smallwood's  Ma- 
ryland riflemen,  in  number  about  four  hundred,  and  placing  himself 


LORD    STIRLING.  265 

in  person  at  their  head,  prepared  to  carry  out  this  terrible  diversion. 
A  few  words,  by  way  of  address,  informed  this  little  band  that  they 
were  to  immolate  themselves  for  their  companions ;  on  which,  with 
shouts  of  enthusiasm,  they  demanded  to  be  led  to  the  assault.  In 
their  first  onset  they  were  repulsed ;  and,  indeed,  for  several  succes- 
sive ones.  But  speedily  rallying,  they  charged  again  and  again, 
until  the  enemy  began  finally  to  waver.  Before  the  deadly  fire  of 
that  courageous  corps,  the  British  ranks  thinned  rapidly.  Seeing  the 
foe  betray  signs  of  confusion,  the  brave  riflemen,  with  Stirling  wav- 
ing his  sword  at  their  head,  advanced  cheering,  to  a  last  assault ;  and 
Cornwallis  was  on  the  very  point  of  abandoning  his  post,  when 
Grant,  wheeling  his  whole  division  around  an  angle  of  the  woods 
in  their  rear,  suddenly  appeared  in  view.  To  retreat  was  impossi- 
ble. The  soldiers  of  Cornwallis  so  lately  disheartened,  took  up  the 
shout  which,  at  this  sight,  died  on  the  tongues  of  the  Americans ;  and 
with  deafening  huzzas,  from  front  and  rear,  overpowering  masses  of 
the  enemy  poured  down  upon  this  isolated  force.  To  struggle  longer 
would  have  been  a  useless  waste  of  blood.  Stirling  accordingly 
hung  out  a  white  handkerchief  on  the  point  of  a  bayonet,  and  with 
the  remnant  of  his  Spartan  band  surrendered.  But  he  had  gained 
his  purpose.  During  the  struggle  the  remainder  of  his  troops,  con- 
cealed by  the  woods  and  by  the  firing,  made  good  their  passage  of 
the  creek,  and  succeeded  in  safely  reaching  the  lines  at  Brooklyn. 

The  British  were  now  masters  of  the  last  pass,  and  Grant,  empty- 
ing his  legions  down  into  the  plain,  advanced  to  join  De  Heister  and 
Clinton,  when  all  three  uniting,  under  the  personal  command  of 
Howe,  rolled  onwards  triumphantly  to  the  American  lines.  Mean- 
time, within  those  defences,  all  was  alarm  and  confusion.  Parties 
of  fugitives,  sometimes  in  whole  companies,  sometimes  in  smaller 
fragments,  now  in  good  order,  now  totally  disorganized,  came 
hurrying  across  the  plain,  and  flinging  themselves,  breathless,  behind 
the  entrenchments,  communicated  a  portion  of  their  own  terror  to 
those  within.  These  were  the  more  easily  infected,  because  mostly 
militia ;  for  the  regular  troops  had  been  placed  outside  to  bear  the 
brunt  of  the  battle.  In  vain  Putnam  had  despatched  every  man  he 
could  spare,  in  order  to  check  the  retreat :  the  recruits,  as  well  as 
the  fugitives,  soon  appeared,  driving,  pell-mell,  before  the  advanced 
parties  of  the  enemy.  General  Washington  had  hurried  to  Brook- 
lyn, as  soon  as  the  first  cannon  announced  a  battle ;  and  he 
now  witnessed,  with  anguish  indescribable,  the  rout  of  his  choicest 
troops.  His  presence  restored  confidence  among  the  officers ;  but 
with  the  common  men,  the  panic  still  spread.  Hour  after  hour  had 
34  x 


266 


THE  HEROES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 


THE   RETREAT    AT   LOSG    ISLAND. 


passed,  and  yet  neither  Sullivan  nor  Stirling  appeared,  though  many 
of  their  troops  had  come  in,  some  so  blackened  with  powder,  and 
their  standards  so  torn  with  shot,  as  to  betray  the  hard  fighting  they 
had  witnessed.  At  last  hope  for  these  brave  commanders  gave  out ; 
for  now  the  enemy  darkened  the  whole  space  in  front  of  the 
entrenchments :  and  as  column  after  column  marched  up,  their  bur- 
nished muskets  flashing  in  the  light,  and  huzzas  of  triumph  ringing 
along  the  line,  the  cry  arose  that  the  British  were  about  to  storm  the 
encampment.  Had  Howe  allowed  his  men  to  do  so,  in  that  moment 
of  enthusiasm  on  their  side,  and  depression  on  that  of  the  Americans, 
he  would,  without  doubt,  have  carried  everything  before  him,  and 
almost  annihilated  his  enemy.  Washington  hastily  made  what  ar- 
rangements he  could  to  resist  such  an  attack,  which  the  increasing 
delay  of  Howe  enabled  him  to  perfect  better  than  he  had  hoped. 
The  day  passed,  however,  without  any  demonstration  on  the  part  of 
the  enemy ;  but  it  was  not  until  night  fell,  and  the  lights  of  the 
British  glittered  along  the  eastern  horizon,  that  the  exhausted 
Americans  felt  secure. 


LORD    STIRLING.  267 

This  battle  has  been  much  and  severely  criticised ;  but,  after  a 
candid  examination,  we  can  see  no  blame  attaching  to  any  one. 
Putnam  himself  was  scarcely  aware  of  the  pass  by  Jamaica,  nor  had 
he,  before  the  battle,  had  time  to  become  at  home  in  his  position. 
If  Greene  had  continued  well,  the  result  of  the  day  might  have 
been  different.  But,  perhaps,  the  defeat  of  the  Americans  was 
providential ;  for,  if  they  had  repulsed  the  enemy,  and  been  induced 
in  consequence  to  hold  Long  Island  until  the  British  had  passed 
their  ships  up  the  North  and  East  Rivers,  the  whole  army,  instead 
of  a  part,  might,  in  the  end,  have  fallen  a  sacrifice.  It  is  astonishing 
that  Howe  did  not  wait  until  he  had  done  this,  before  he  made  his 
attack.  As  it  was,  the  way  was  left  open  for  Washington  to  retire. 
This  he  availed  himself  of  on  the  night  of  the  28th,  in  that  memorable 
retreat  across  the  East  River,  which  has  always  been  regarded  as 
one  of  the  most  brilliant  in  history. 

The  night  was  dark  and  misty.  The  embarkation  began  in  the 
evening.  Nine  thousand  troops,  a  quantity  of  military  stores,  and 
a  heavy  train  of  artillery  were  to  be  transported  across  a  sheet  of 
water  and  landed  in  safety  on  the  other  side ;  and  this  while  an 
active  and  watchful  enemy  was  posted  so  close  to  the  American 
camp,  that  the  neigh  of  a  horse  from  the  latter  could  almost  be  heard 
by  the  British  sentinels.  Yet  neither  the  heavy  rumbling  of  the 
artillery  wagons,  nor  the  other  unavoidable  noises  of  a  retreat, 
warned  the  enemy  of  Washington's  movement.  The  Commander- 
in-chief  remained  at  the  ferry  through  the  whole  night,  personally 
superintending  the  embarkation.  The  high  honor  of  forming  the 
covering  party  was,  on  this  occasion,  entrusted  to  the  troops  of  the 
middle  states,  as  a  reward  for  the  gallantry  they  had  shewn  in  the 
late  action.  By  daybreak  all  the  troops  had  crossed.  Some  heavy 
camion  had  to  be  abandoned ;  but  every  thing  else  was  brought  off 
in  safety. 

The  events  of  Stirling's  life,  after  the  battle  'of  Long  Island,  may 
be  told  in  few  words.  He  remained  a  prisoner  until  exchanged  for 
the  Governor  of  Florida,  and,  joining  the  army  in  1777,  was  present 
at  the  battles  of  Brandywine  and  Germantown,  in  the  last  of  which 
encounters  he  commanded  the  reserve.  His  next  engagement  was 
that  of  Monmouth;  of  his  conduct  on  which  occasion  we  have 
already  spoken.  In  1780,  with  a  force  of  twenty-five  hundred  men, 
he  was  sent  on  an  expedition  against  Staten  Island ;  but  the  enemy 
having  received  notice  of  the  intended  attack,  the  affair  proved 
abortive.  In  1781,  he  took  command  of  the  northern  army,  and 
remained  at  Albany  until  the  next  season,  when  he  removed  to 


268 


THE  HEROES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 


Philadelphia.  When  spring  opened,  however,  he  again  went  to 
Albany  and  resumed  command  of  the  northern  troops.  His  life  was 
now  drawing  to  a  close.  The  following  year,  in  1783,  he  fell  a  vic- 
tim to  the  gout. 

Lord  Stirling  was  devotedly  attached  to  Washington  ;  and  it  was 
through  him  that  the  Conway  cabal  was  brought  to  light.  In  his 
nature  he  was  frank  and  generous.  He  despised  trickery,  and 
abhorred  dissimulation.  Perhaps,  few  men  in  the  army  were  his 
equals  in  learning.  He  always  signed  himself  Stirling,  instead  of 
Alexander,  using  his  title,  and  not  his  family  name.  « 


BATTLE  OF   PKINCETON. 


HUGH    MERCER. 


HAT  Hugh  Mercer,  a  Brigadier- 
General  in  the  continental  line,  was 
second  to  few  in  the  Revolution,  for 
talents,  education,  and  patriotism, 
is  now  universally  admitted.  The 
opening  of  the  war  of  indepen- 
dence found  him  engaged  in  a 
lucrative  medical  practice,  which 
he  immediately  abandoned  to  enter 
the  army,  declaring  his  willingness 
to  serve  in  any  rank  or  station. — 
This  absence  of  all  selfish  motives 
continued  with  him  to  the  end  of  his 
career.  He  never  joined  those  who 
complained  of  Congress  for  promo- 
tions that  seemed  to  slight  their  own 

services ;  but,  on  one  of  those  occasions,  only  a  day  or  two  before 

x*  269 


270  THE  HEROES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 

his  death,  reproved  his  companions  in  these  words :  "  We  are  not 
engaged  in  a  war  of  ambition,  gentlemen,"  he  said,  "  if  we  were,  I 
should  not  be  here.  Every  man  should  be  content  to  serve  in  that 
station  where  he  can  be  most  useful.  For  my  part  I  have  but  one 
object  in  view,  and  that  is  the  success  of  the  cause.  God  can  wit- 
ness how  cheerfully  I  would  lay  down  my  life  to  secure  it !" 

Mercer  was  born  in  Scotland,  though  in  what  year  has  never  been 
satisfactorily  ascertained.  He  was  old  enough,  however,  to  join 
Charles  Edward,  in  that  Prince's  romantic  enterprise  to  regain  the 
crown  of  the  Stuarts,  in  1745  ;  and,  at  the  battle  of  Culloden,  acted 
as  an  assistant  Surgeon.  Flying  from  a  disastrous  field,  he  succeeded 
in  escaping  the  pursuit  of  the  sanguinary  Duke  of  Cumberland,  and, 
with  a  number  of  his  fellow  soldiers,  sought  a  refuge  in  the  then 
wilds  of  America.  He  settled  at  Fredericksburg,  Virginia,  where  he 
married  and  became  distinguished  as  a  physician.  His  martial  pro- 
pensities, however,  still  clung  to  him,  and  in  the  Indian  war  of  1755, 
he  served  as  a  Captain  under  Washington.  During  this  campaign 
he  made  one  of  those  miraculous  escapes  which  have  passed  into 
popular  traditions.  Wounded  in  a  sharp  engagement,  and  separated 
from  his  company,  he  was  flying  before  the  merciless  savages,  when 
faintness  from  loss  of  blood  seizing  him,  he  hid  himself  in  the  hollow 
of  a  large  tree.  In  a  moment  the  Indians  appeared  in  sight,  and 
even  searched  around  the  trunk.  Mercer  scarcely  breathed,  so  ter- 
rible was  his  suspense  !  At  last  the  savages  passed  on,  and  when 
sufficient  time  had  elapsed  to  render  it  prudent,  he  emerged  from  his 
retreat  and  began  a  painful  march  of  more  than  a  hundred  miles  to 
the  abodes  of  civilization.  During  the  journey  he  supported  himself 
on  roots  and  on  the  body  of  a  rattlesnake,  which  crossed  his  path, 
and  which  he  killed.  Finally  he  reached  Fort  Cumberland  in  safety, 
though  haggard  in  looks,  and  weak  from  his  wound  and  sufferings. 
For  his  gallantry  in  destroying  the  Indian  settlement  at  Kittanning, 
in  Pennsylvania,  during  this  war,  the  corporation  of  Philadelphia 
presented  him  a  medal. 

It  may,  at  first,  appear  surprising  that  a  Scottish  Jacobite,  the  as- 
serter  and  defender  of  hereditary  right,  should  become  an  American 
republican.  But  the  exiles  for  the  cause  of  Stuart  had  suffered  so 
much  from  the  oppressions  of  England,  that  their  sympathies  were 
at  once  aroused  in  behalf  of  others  persecuted  like  themselves.  More- 
over, the  followers  of  Charles  Edward  were  prompted,  in  undertak- 
ing his  cause,  more  by  a  sentiment  of  generous  loyalty  than  by  any 
conviction  of  the  superior  advantages  to  be  derived  from  his  govern- 
ment ;  hence,  those  Jacobite  predilections  being  more  a  feeling  than 


'HUGH  MERCER.  271 

a  principle,  experienced  nothing  repugnant,  but  every  thing  that  was 
noble,  in  adopting  the  side  of  men  fighting  for  their  hearths  arid  lib- 
erty. It  was  thus,  no  doubt,  that  Mercer  reasoned,  or  rather  felt. 
Besides,  he  had  formed  an  intimate  friendship  for  Washington,  and 
naturally  inclined  to  adopt  the  course  his  old  commander  had  taken 
up.  Certain  it  is  that,  when  the  war  of  independence  began,  no 
man  was  more  prompt  to  render  his  services  in  behalf  of  freedom, 
or,  as  we  have  seen,  with  less  of  selfishness  in  the  offer.  Forever 
exiled  from  his  native  shores ;  never  more  to  behold  her  brown  heaths, 
her  hoary  glens,  or  her  misty  mountains,  America  was  now  his  coun- 
try, and  he  prepared  to  shed  his  blood  for  her  as  freely  and  disinter- 
estedly as  when  he  had  made  a  last  stand  for  his  ancient  line  of 
Princes,  on  the  wild  moor  of  Culloden. 

In  1775,  when  the  minute-men  of  Virginia  began  to  marshal,  Mercer 
was  in  command  of  three  regiments  of  their  number.  In  the  beginning 
of  the  next  year,  having  been  appointed  a  Colonel  of  the  state  militia, 
he  was  of  great  service  in  organizing  and  disciplining  these  rude  re- 
cruits. Many  of  the  troops,  especially  those  from  beyond  the  niountains, 
were  wild  and  turbulent  to  the  last  degree,  spurning  every  restraint 
of  military  rule.  On  one  occasion,  a  company  of  these  men 
broke  out  into  open  mutiny,  seized  the  camp,  and  threatened  with 
instant  death  any  officer  who  should  interfere  with  their  lawless  mea- 
sures. Mercer  no  sooner  heard  of  the  disturbance  than  he  hurried 
to  the  scene,  regardless  of  the  entreaties  of  his  friends,  who  looked  on 
him  as  going  to  certain  destruction.  Arriving  at  the  camp,  he  or- 
dered all  the  troops  to  be  drawn  up  for  a  general  parade,  when  he 
directed  the  offending  company  to  be  disarmed  in  the  presence  of  the 
others.  Intimidated  by  his  bold  front,  and  finding  the  obedient 
troops  far  the  most  numerous,  the  mutineers  suffered  themselves  to 
be  stripped  of  their  weapons  without  resistance.  The  ringleaders 
having  been  placed  under  a  strong  guard,  Mercer  proceeded  to  ad- 
dress the  guilty  company.  He  spoke  in  eloquent  and  forcible  terms, 
appealing  to  their  better  feelings  in  the  capacity  of  citizens  ;  then, 
changing  his  tone,  he  reminded  them  that,  while  soldiers,  the  penalty 
of  death  would  be  their  certain  fate,  if  mutineers.  The  result  of  this 
bold,  yet  judicious  conduct,  was  that  all  symptoms  of  disorder  van- 
ished from  that  hour.  The  ringleaders,  after  an  imprisonment  of  a 
few  days,  were  liberated ;  and  the  company  became  one  of  the  most 
obedient  and  effective  in  the  army. 

The  reputation  of  Mercer  as  a  veteran  officer  was  not  confined  to 
his  adopted  state  ;  and,  in  1776,  Congress,  justly  estimating' his  mer- 
its, appointed  him  a  Brigadier-General.  He  immediately  repaired  to 


272  THE  HEROES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 

the  camp  of  Washington,  who  welcomed  his  old  associate  with  de- 
light. The  crisis  was  critical.  It  was  the  hour  when  the  liberties  of 
America,  after  running  a  short  and  dazzling  career,  seemed  about  to 
expire  forever,  like  those  false  stars,  which  shooting  athwart  the  tem- 
pest, coruscate  a  moment  and  disappear.  The  blaze  of  enthusiasm 
which  had  illuminated  Lexington  and  Bunker  Hill,  had  vanished 
before  the  clouds  that  gathered  blacker  and  blacker  around  Long 
Island,  Fort  Washington,  and  the  retreat  through  the  Jerseys.  Hope 
almost  despaired,  as  the  gloom  deepened  at  the  prospect,  while  the 
land  rocked  to  its  utmost  shores,  as  if  foreboding  earthquake  and  utter 
dissolution. 

Throughout  that  disastrous  period,  Mercer  was  one  of  those  who, 
never  for  a  moment,  was  appalled.  No  fear  of  sacrificing  his  family, 
of  endangering  his  life,  or  of  leaving  a  name  stigmatised  by  that  op- 
probious  epithet  which  the  successful  tyrant  bestows  on  the  unsuc- 
cessful rebel,  could  make  him  regret  the  part  he  had  taken.  In  defeat 
and  doubt  he  was  still  the  same  bold,  resolute,  and  efficient  officer, 
as  in  victory  and  success.  When,  after  the  battle  of  Assunpink,  it  was 
resolved,  in  the  celebrated  midnight  consultation  at  the  tent  of  St. 
Clair,  to  march  on  Princeton,  and  afterwards,  if  possible,  on  Bruns- 
wick, to  Mercer  was  committed  the  important  command  of  the  ad- 
vanced guard.  The  little  army  that  now  began  its  march  was  but 
the  skeleton  of  what  it  had  been  but  a  few  months  before.  The  cel- 
ebrated regiment  of  Smallwood,  composed  of  the  flower  of  the  Ma- 
ryland youth,  which  had  gone  into  battle  at  Long  Island  over  a 
thousand  strong,  was  reduced  to  sixty  men  ;  and  indeed,  nearly  the 
whole  of  Washington's  force  was  composed  of  the  Pennsylvania 
militia  and  volunteers,  to  whom  belongs,  in  a  great  measure,  the 
honor  of  saving  the  country  in  that  crisis.  The  night  was  dark, 
calm,  and  cold,  and  as  the  army  left  their  burning  watch  fires  and 
plunged  into  the  gloom,  many  a  heart  beat  uneasily  for  the  success 
of  Washington's  bold  stratagem.  The  troops  took  the  lower  road  for 
Sandtown,  and  about  day-break  reached  Stony  Brook,  at  the  distance 
of  rather  more  than  a  mile  and  a  quarter  from  the  college  at  Prince- 
ton. A  brigade  of  the  enemy  was  known  to  be  in  the  town,  and  to 
intercept  its  retreat,  as  well  as  to  cover  his  own  rear  from  Cornwal- 
lis,  Washington  despatched  General  Mercer,  with  a  detachment  of 
three  hundred  and  fifty  men,  along  the  brook,  to  seize  the  bridge  on 
the  old  Trenton  road.  It  happened  that  Lieutenant-Colonel  Maw- 
hood,  at  the  head  of  the  17th  British  regiment,  had  just  crossed  this 
bridge  on  his  way  to  join  Cornwallis,  but  discovering  the  approach 
of  the  Americans,  he  retraced  his  steps  and  hastened  to  seize  a  rising 


HUGH    MERCER.  273 

ground,  not  quite  five  hundred  yards  distant.  Mercer,  on  his  part, 
pressed  forward  as  eagerly  to  gain  the  elevation  first ;  and,  availing 
himself  of  a  diagonal  course  through  an  orchard,  anticipated  the 
enemy  by  about  forty  paces. 

The  sun  had  just  risen,  and  the  hoar  frost  bespangled  the  twigs, 
the  blades  of  grass,  every  thing  around  ;  never,  perhaps,  was  there 
a  more  lovely  scene  than  the  one  so  soon  to  be  darkened  by  the 
smoke  of  blood  and  ensanguined  by  mortal  strife.  Advancing  to  a 
worm-fence,  Mercer  ranged  his  men  along  it  and  ordered  them  to 
fire.  The  British  replied,  and  instantly  charged.  It  was  a  gallant 
sight,  as  even  their  adversaries  confess,  to  see  those  splendid  veter- 
ans advancing  through  the  smoke,  their  arms  glistening,  their  bayo- 
nets in  an  unbroken  line,  and  their  tramp  as  steady  as  on  a  parade. 
The  enemy  were  comparatively  fresh;  the  Americans  were  exhausted 
by  eighteen  hours  of  fighting  and  marching,  and,  moreover,  were 
only  armed  with  rifles ;  yet  they  stood  until  the  third  fire,  when  see- 
ing the  bayonets  of  the  British  bristling  close  at  hand,  they  turned 
and  fled.  The  ardent  and  heroic  soul  of  Mercer  could  not  endure 
this  spectacle.  At  first  he  tried  to  rally  his  men,  but  this  was  impos- 
sible ;  and  in  a  few  seconds  he  found  himself  deserted  in  the  rear. 
Disdaining  to  fly,  he  turned  on  the  foe.  At  this  instant  a  blow 
from  a  musket  brought  him  to  the  ground.  He  was  immediately 
surrounded  by  the  British  soldiery  who  bayoneted  him  as  he  lay ; 
but,  like  a  wounded  lion,  defiant  to  the  last,  Mercer  continued  to 

lunge  at  his  enemies.  "  Call  for  quarters,  you  d d  rebel,"  and  "we 

have  got  the  rebel  General,"  were  the  cries  of  the  soldiery  in  this 
melee,  each  word  being  accompanied  by  a  new  bayonet  stroke.  But 
still  the  wounded  man  fought  on,  his  indignation  repelling  in  words 
the  charge  of  rebellion.  Alone,  amid  his  many  foes,  he  maintained 
the  unequal  strife  !  At  last,  fainting  from  loss  of  blood,  he  sank  back, 
to  all  appearance  dead.  With  an  oath  at  his  heroic  obstinacy,  and, 
perhaps,  a  last  thrust  of  the  bayonet,  his  assailants  now  left  him,  and 
hurried  to  regain  their  companions  engaged  in  pursuit  of  the  flying 
foe. 

At  the  first  sound  of  the  firing,  Washington  directed  the  Penn- 
sylvania militia  to  advance,  with  two  pieces  of  artillery  to  Mercer's 
support.  He  headed  this  detachment  in  person.  As  he  hurried 
forward,  his  heart  was  wrung  to  behold  Mercer's  troops  flying 
towards  him.  The  Pennsylvania  militia,  too,  showed  signs  of 
wavering,  but  Washington  dashed  into  their  midst,  and,  seizing  the 
colors,  galloped  ahead,  waving  them  aloft,  and  calling  on  the  fugi- 
tives to  rally  and  follow  him  to  meet  the  foe.  His  voice  did  not 
35 


274  THE  HEROES  OF  THE  BEVOLUTION. 

fall  on  unheeding  ears.  There  was  a  look  of  momentary  terror  at 
the  enemy,  a  glance  of  enthusiasm  at  their  leader,  and  then,  with  a 
cheer,  they  halted,  formed  into  line  again,  and  levelled  their  arms. 
At  this  show  of  resistance,  the  British  column  stopped,  like  a  well- 
trained  courser  checked  in  full  career,  the  order  to  dress  the  line  was 
distinctly  heard,  and  a  long  line  of  levelled  muskets  flashed  back  the 
morning  sunbeams.  There  was  a  deathless  pause.  The  Com- 
mander-in-chief still  stood  in  the  fore-ground,  half  way  between  the 
two  armies,  his  tall  form  conspicuous  against  the  opposite  horizon. 
His  death  seemed  inevitable.  The  pause  was  but  for  a  second. 
The  hoarse  command  to  fire  echoed  from  the  British  line,  and  the 
whole  of  that  glittering  front  was  a  sheet  of  flame ;  while,  at  the 
same  moment,  the  two  field-pieces  of  their  adversaries  hurled  on  the 
royal  flank  their  tempests  of  grape.  Now  followed  an  agony  of 
suspense  in  the  American  ranks,  until  the  smoke,  lifting  from  the 
intervening  space,  disclosed  the  form  of  their  leader,  still  towering 
unhurt ;  at  this  a  shout  burst  from  the  militia,  and,  with  one  common 
impulse  of  enthusiasm,  they  advanced  to  the  charge.  But  the 
enemy,  satisfied  with  his  reception,  gave  way,  leaving  his  artillery 
behind  him.  The  cheers  of  victory  now  redoubled  along  the  line. 
Washington,  around  whom  his  friends  had  pressed  to  grasp  his 
hand,  which  some  did  with  tears,  yielded,  an  instant,  to  the  affec- 
tionate pressure,  and  then  exclaimed,  with  a  brightening  face, 
"Away,  and  bring  up  the  troops — the  day  is  our  own  ! " 

The  Americans  now  continued  their  march  towards  Princeton, 
where  the  55th  and  40th  regiments  of  the  enemy  were  posted. 
These  made  some  resistance  at  a  deep  ravine,  not  far  south  of  the 
village,  and  also  at  the  college,  in  which  they  took  refuge  at  the 
approach  of  the  victors.  The  struggle  here,  however,  was  soon 
over.  In  this  battle  about  one  hundred  of  the  British  were  killed, 
and  nearly  three  hundred  taken  prisoners.  On  the  part  of  the 
Americans  the  loss  was  slight,  at  least  in  numbers.  But  several  valu- 
able officers  fell.  In  no  battle  during  the  war,  indeed,  did  so  many 
men  of  talents  and  usefulness  lose  their  lives.  Colonels  Potter  and 
Haslet,  Major  Anthony  Morris,  and  Captains  Fleming,  Neal,  and 
Shippen,  all  officers  of  ability,  were  among  the  slain  in  this  sanguin- 
ary struggle.  It  was  in  the  first  part  of  the  action,  which  did  not 
occupy  twenty  minutes,  that  most  of  this  mortality  occurred. 

After  the  retreat  of  the  enemy,  the  wounded  Mercer  was  found 
on  the  field,  and  assisted  into  a  house,  which  stood  a  few  rods  from 
the  place  where  he  fell.  The  first  information  that  Washington 
received  respecting  his  old  companion  in  arms,  was  that  he  had 


HUGH    MERCER.  275 

perished  on  the  field ;  and  a  false  story  was  propagated  through  the 
army,  which  is  still  perpetuated  in  many  popular  works,  that  he  had 
been  bayonetted  after  his  surrender.  On  the  march  to  Morristown, 
however,  the  Commander-in-chief,  hearing  that  Mercer  survived, 
deputed  Major  George  Lewis,  his  own  nephew,  with  a  flag  and 
letter  to  Lord  Cornwallis,  requesting  that  the  bearer  might  be 
allowed  to  remain  with  the  wounded  General,  and  tend  him  during 
his  illness.  Cornwallis,  who  was  rarely  wanting  in  courtesy,  not 
only  acceded  to  this,  but  sent  his  own  surgeon  to  wait  on  the  suf- 
ferer. This  gentleman,  at  first,  held  out  hopes  to  his  patient,  that 
the  wounds,  though  many  and  severe,  would  not  be  mortal.  But 
Mercer,  who  had  been  an  army-surgeon  himself,  shook  his  head 
with  a  faint  smile,  and  addressing  young  Lewis,  said,  "  Raise  my  right 
arm,  George,  and  this  gentleman  will  then  discern  the  smallest  of 
my  wounds,  but  which  will  prove  the  most  fatal.  Yes,  sir,  that  is 
a  fellow  that  will  soon  do  my  business."  His  words  proved  pro- 
phetic: he  languished  until  the  12th,  and  then  expired.  He  died 
far  from  his  family,  and  in  the  house  of  a  stranger ;  yet  one  thought 
cheered  him  to  the  last,  it  was  that  he  perished  in  the  cause  of 
freedom ! 

The  death  bed  of  Mercer  was  attended  by  two  females,  of  the 
society  of  Friends,  who,  like  messengers  from  heaven,  smoothed  his 
pillow  and  cheered  his  declining  hours.  They  inhabited  the  house 
to  which  he  was  carried,  and  refusing  to  dy  during  the  battle,  were 
there  when  he  was  brought,  wounded  and  dying,  to  the  threshold. 
History  has  scarcely  done  justice  to  the  women  of  the  Revolution. 
Those  whose  relatives  were  embarked  in  the  contest  were  the  prey 
of  constant  anxieties,  and  had  to  endure  privations  such  as  we  would 
now  shudder  even  to  record.  Death  continually  removed  some  bro- 
ther, or  parent,  or  husband.  The  few  who  were  restrained  by  religious 
scruples  from  an  active  participation  in  the  war,  like  the  peaceful 
females  who  watched  by  Mercer's  dying  bed,  still  had  their  warmest 
sympathies  enlisted  for  a  suffering  country,  and  were  forced,  in  com- 
mon with  others,  to  submit  to  sacrifices,  the  result  of  the  disordered 
condition  of  affairs.  The  women  of  the  Revolution  were  more  gene- 
rally true  to  the  cause  of  freedom  than  were  the  other  sex.  They 
endured  in  silence  and  without  complaint.  Let  us  pay  this  tardy 
tribute  to  the  patriotism  of  those  immortal  females ! 

Nearly  seventy  years  after  Mercer's  death,  his  heroism  and  untimely 
fate  were  brought  vividly  before  the  minds  of  the  present  generation, 
by  a  ceremony  as  impressive  as  it  was  merited.  We  allude  to  the 
removal  of  his  remains  from  Christ  church  grave-yard,  in  Philadel- 


276 


THE  HEROES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 


phia,  to  the  cemetery  on  Laurel  Hill,  where  a  monument  had  been 
prepared  for  them.  The  coffin,  covered  with  a  pall,  was  borne 
through  the  streets  of  Philadelphia,  in  military  procession,  and  with 
the  wail  of  martial  music.  The  side-walks  were  lined  with  unco- 
vered spectators,  one  common  sentiment  of  awe  and  reverence  per- 
vading the  vast  crowd,  as  it  thus  stood  face  to  face,  as  it  were,  with 
a  martyr  of  the  Revolution ! 


DEATH   OF   GENERAL   WOLFE. 

ARTHUR    ST.   CLAIR. 

N  military  affairs,  to  be  unfortunate  is  almost  as 
criminal  as  to  be  incapable.  Arthur  St.  Glair  is  an 
example  in  point.  From  first  to  last  a  fatality  ap- 
.peared  to  follow  all  his  undertakings,  and,  though 
often  engaged,  he  never  achieved  a  victory.  It 
was  not  owing  to  a  total  want  of  ability  that  he 
miscarried  so  universally;  for  he  was  brave,  careful, 
self-collected,  and  possessed  the  advantage  of  con- 
siderable military  experience.  But,  having  failed  once  or  twice,  the 
reputation  of  being  unlucky  ever  after  attended  him ;  and  this  senti 
ment  dampened  the  confidence  of  his  soldiers,  even  if  it  had  no 
effect  on  himself.  The  recollection  of  past  glory  is  a  spur  to  both 
leader  and  army;  while  the  consciousness  of  former  defeats  is  always 
disheartening.  But  there  was,  besides  this,  a  cause  for  St.  Glair's 
ill-success,  existing  in  his  slavish  adherence  to  rules,  and  in  his  want 

Y  277 


278  THE  HEROES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 

of  original  and  comprehensive  grasp  of  mind.  In  short,  he  had 
talent,  but  no  genius;  could  follow,  but  was  not  fit  to  lead.  At 
Princeton  and  Yorktown,  where  he  was  under  the  eye  of  Washing- 
ton, he  acquitted  himself  honorably ;  but  at  Ticonderoga  and  the 
Miami,  where  he  commanded  in  chief,  he  reaped  only  ruin  arid  dis- 
grace. Gates,  Lee  and  himself,  all  officers  educated  in  the  armies 
of  Europe,  were  memorable  examples  that,  in  revolutions,  it  is  not 
the  accomplished  martinet,  but  the  hero,  rough  from  the  people,  who 
becomes  eminent. 

St.  Glair  was  born  in  Edinburg,  in  the  year  1734.  His  education 
was  elegant,  and  early  took  a  military  turn.  In  1755,  at  the  age  of 
twenty-one,  he  accompanied  Admiral  Boscawen  to  this  country,  and 
receiving  an  Ensign's  commission,  took  the  field  in  the  old  French 
war.  He  was  one  of  the  immortal  band  that  followed  Wolfe,  in  his 
expedition  against  Quebec,  and  was  present,  on  the  heights  of  Abra- 
ham, when  the  gallant  soul  of  his  leader  took  flight  in  the  hour  of 
victory.  Before  the  close  of  the  war,  St.  Clair  had  risen  to  be  a 
Lieutenant.  He  did  not  remain  in  the  army,  however,  but  disposing 
of  his  commission,  remained  in  America  and  embarked  in  trade. 
Proving  unfortunate  in  commerce,  he  removed  to  Ligonier  Valley,  in 
Pennsylvania,  west  of  the  Alleghany  mountains,  where,  succeeding 
in  monopolizing  various  offices  of  public  business,  he  rapidly 
acquired  a  fortune.  When  the  war  of  independence  sent  its  sum- 
mons through  the  land,  St.  Clair  assumed  arms  in  behalf  of  his 
adopted  country,  and,  having  received  a  Colonel's  commission,  was 
so  active  in  recruiting  that  he  raised  a  regiment  within  sixty  days. 
He  was  ordered  to  Canada,  where  he  arrived  just  after  the  death  of 
Montgomery.  In  the  aifair  at  Three  Rivers  he  took  a  part.  He 
remained  with  the  invading  army  until  Canada  was  evacuated, 
establishing,  among  his  fellow  soldiers,  a  high  character  for  zeal  and 
intrepidity.  For  his  services  during  the  campaign  Congress  rewarded 
him  with  the  rank  of  Brigadier-General. 

St.  Clair  now  joined  the  army  of  Washington.  On  the  morning 
of  December  25th,  1776,  he  accompanied  Sullivan's  division  in  the 
memorable  attack  on  Trenton.  He  was  engaged  also  in  the  battle 
of  Assunpink ;  and  it  was  in  his  tent,  on  the  night  after  the  conflict,  that 
the  consultation  was  held,  at  which  the  bold  manoBuvre  of  marching 
on  the  enemy's  communications,  was  resolved  upon.  Being  the 
only  general  officer  acquainted  with  the  country,  St.  Clair  was  in 
close  attendance  on  Washington  through  the  eventful  transactions 
that  succeeded.  He  was  present  at  the  battle  of  Princeton,  though 
here,  as  at  Trenton  and  Assunpink,  no  opportunity  was  afforded  of 


ARTHUR    ST.  CLAIR.  279 

particularly  distinguishing  himself.  A  high  opinion  of  his  talents, 
however,  had  spread,  and  this,  added  to  his  amiable  manners,  secured 
his  elevation,  in  the  ensuing  spring,  to  the  rank  of  Major-General ;  a 
promotion,  however,  obtained  at  the  expense  of  Arnold,  whose  just 
claims  were  postponed  to  those  of  St.  Clair.  He  was  now  despatched 
to  the  northern  department,  in  order  to  assist  Schuyler  against  Bur- 
goyne.  Here  the  command  of  Fort  Ticonderoga  devolved  on  him. 
This  was  the  first  instance  in  his  career  in  which  he  was  called  on 
to  assume  a  leading  part.  The  event  proved  that  his  abilities  had 
been  exaggerated.  The  greatest  expectations  had  been  formed  of 
his  conduct,  and  the  country  Avas  in  hourly  expectation  of  hearing 
that  he  had  checked  Burgoyne  ;  but,  suddenly,  in  the  midst  of  this 
sanguine  belief,  came  the  startling  intelligence  that  Ticonderoga  had 
been  abandoned.  The  revulsion  was  terrible.  A  universal  outcry 
rose  up  against  St.  Clair  ;  it  was  said  that  he  had  been  bribed  by  sil- 
ver bullets  shot  into  his  camp  ;  and  Congress,  itself  carried  away  by 
the  popular  feeling,  in  the  first  moments  of  indignation,  ordered  his 
recall,  as  well  as  Schuyler,  and  all  the  Brigadiers. 

At  this  day,  the  candid  judgment  passed  on  St.  Clair,  while  it  jus- 
tifies his  intentions,  depreciates  his  ability.  He  erred,  either  in  not 
abandoning  the  fort  earlier,  or  in  not  holding  it  out  to  extremity. 
Only  one  excuse  can  be  given  for  his  conduct.  Mount  Defiance, 
which  commanded  the  fort,  had  been  always  considered  inaccessi- 
ble ;  consequently,  St.  Clair  took  no  measures  to  occupy  it ;  and  when 
Burgoyne,  after  incredible  toil  erected  a  battery  there,  Ticonderoga,  of 
course,  became  untenable.  But  no  great  General  trusts  to  hearsay. 
If  Burgoyne  had  assented,  without  examination,  to  the  received  opi- 
nion respecting  Mount  Defiance,  Ticonderoga  would  not  have  fallen 
without  a  struggle;  and  the  fact  that  the  British  leader  doubted 
and  made  an  examination,  must  always  be  sufficient  to  condemn  St. 
Clair.  The  enemy  arrived  under  the  walls  of  the  fort  on  the  1st  of  July, 
1777.  On  the  5th,  the  height  was  occupied.  By  the  ensuing  day, 
it  was  expected  that  the  batteries  would  be  opened,  and  the  invest- 
ment on  all  sides  of  the  lines  complete.  In  this  crisis,  a  hurried  coun- 
cil of  war  was  called,  when  the  sentiment  in  favor  of  a  retreat  was 
found  to  be  universal.  To  remain  was  to  insure  ultimate  capture.  The 
only  resource  was  to  abandon  the  place  in  the  night,  and  fall  back 
on  Schuyler  at  Fort  Edward. 

In  a  great  degree  the  country  itself  is  answerable  for  the  loss  of 
this  fortress.  The  opinion  appears  to  have  been  general  that  Ti- 
conderoga was  impregnable,  and  that  it  could  be  defended  by  a  com- 
paratively small  force  ;  hence  the  army  under  St.  Clair,  as  appeared 


280  THE  HEROES  OP  THE  REVOLUTION. 

on  his  trial,  was  not  a  third  of  what  was  required  properly  to  man 
the  works.  His  small  numbers  left  him  no  resource  but  to  retreat, 
especially  after  the  battery  was  erected  on  Mount  Defiance.  Accord- 
ingly, on  the  night  of  the  5th  of  July,  the  hapless  garrison  stole  from 
the  fortress.  The  baggage,  the  hospital  furniture,  the  sick,  and  such 
stores  as  the  haste  would  allow,  were  embarked  on  board  above  two 
hundred  batteaux  and  five  armed  galleys ;  and  the  whole  being 
placed  under  the  charge  of  a  strong  detachment,  commanded  by 
Colonel  Long,  was  despatched  up  Wood  Creek,  in  the  direction  of 
Fort  Edward.  The  main  army  proceeded  on  foot,  taking  the  route 
of  Castleton,  St.  Clair  in  the  van,  and  Colonel  Francis  bringing  up 
the  rear.  It  was  two  o'clock  in  the  morning  of  the  6th,  before  St. 
Clair  left  the  fort.  He  had  ordered  the  utmost  silence  to  be  pre- 
served, and  the  lights  to  be  extinguished  ;  but  unfortunately  a  house 
accidentally  took  fire  on  Mount  Independence,  and  by  the  glare  of 
the  conflagration  the  flight  of  the  Americans  was  detected.  Instantly 
the  alarm  spread  in  the  British  camp,  and  the  troops,  roused  from 
slumber,  began  a  pursuit.  Burgoyne  undertook  for  his  part  to  fol- 
low up  the  galleys,  while  Generals  Reidesel  and  Frazer  gave  chase 
to  St.  Clair.  Burgoytie  had  to  cut  through  some  heavy  booms  and 
a  bridge,  but,  with  incredible  activity  he  succeeded  in  doing  this  by 
nine  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and,  dashing  through  the  passage,  urged 
every  muscle  and  nerve  to  overtake  the  baggage.  By  three  o'clock 
he  came  up  with  the  rear  boats  near  Skeensborough  Falls,  and  at- 
tacked them  with  great  fury.  At  the  same  time,  three  English  regi- 
ments, which  had  been  landed,  with  orders  to  turn  the  Americans  at 
the  Falls,  appeared  in  sight ;  on  which  the  fugitives,  abandoning 
their  baggage  and  setting  fire  to  their  batteaux,  fell  back  precipitately 
to  Fort  Anne. 

The  main  army  under  St.  Clair  fared  little  better.  Aware  that 
he  could  save  his  troops  only  by  the  rapidity  of  his  flight,  that  officer 
pressed  forward  with  such  eagerness  that,  on  the  night  succeeding 
the  evacuation,  he  was  at  Castleton,  thirty  miles  from  Ticonderoga. 
The  rear  guard  under  Colonels  Francis  and  Warner,  rested  at  Hub- 
bardston,  six  miles  short  of  that  place  ;  and, having  been  augmented 
from  shore  by  the  van,  who,  from  excessive  fatigue,  had  lagged  be- 
hind, amounted  to  a  thousand  men.  This  little  band,  on  whom  the 
salvation  of  the  whole  army  devolved,  was  assailed  at  five  o'clock 
on  the  morning  of  the  7th,  by  General  Frazer,  at  the  head  of  eight 
hundred  and  fifty  veterans.  The  battle  was,  for  a  while,  gallantly 
contested.  After  several  shocks,  with  alternate  success,  the  British 
began  to  give  way ;  but  Frazer  rallied  them  anew,  and  led  them  to 


ARTHUR    ST.   CLAIR.  281 

a  furious  charge  with  the  bayonet.  Before  this  impetuous  assault, 
the  Americans  began  to  shake  ;  and,  at  this  crisis,  Riedesel  appear- 
ing, with  a  column  of  fresh  grenadiers  to  reinforce  Frazer,  the  rout 
was  rendered  complete.  Colonel  Francis,  with  several  officers,  and  two 
hundred  men,  were  left  dead  on  the  field;  while  Colonel  Hall,and  sev- 
enteen other  officers,  besides  over  two  hundred  men,  were  taken 
prisoners.  Nearly  six  hundred  are  supposed  to  have  been  wounded, 
of  whom  many  died  miserably,  in  the  woods,  before  they  could 
reach  the  inhabited  country.  The  whole  British  loss  did  not  exceed 
one  hundred  arid  eighty.  At  the  beginning  of  the  battle  there  were 
two  regiments  of  Americans  about  two  miles  in  the  rear  of  Colonel 
Francis.  These  were  ordered  up  to  his  assistance,  but  instead  of 
obeying,  they  fled  to  Castleton.  Had  they  arrived  to  his  succor,  the 
British  would  probably  have  been  cut  to  pieces.  It  will  always  be 
a  reflection  on  St.  Clair  that  he  was  not  present  in  this  action.  If 
Putnam,  or  Wayne,  or  any  other  of  the  indomitable  souls  of  the  Revo- 
lution, had  been  in  command  of  the  retreating  garrison,  there  would 
have  been  one  of  the  bloodiest  frays  on  that  July  morning  which 
history  records.  Compare  Putnam  retreating  from  Bunker  Hill,  or 
even  Stirling,  falling  back  at  Long  Island,  with  St.  Clair,  on  this  occa- 
sion, and  how  much  does  the  latter  suffer  by  the  comparison  !  Yet 
St.  Clair  did  not  want  courage.  It  was  heroic  resolution  that  he 
required — the  determination  to  die  rather  than  retreat.  The  spirit  of 
Leonidas  was  wanting  in  him  ! 

On  receiving  intelligence  of  this  defeat,  and  also  of  the  defeat  at 
Skeensborough,  St.  Clair  hesitated  whether  to  retire  to  the  upper 
waters  of  the  Connecticut,  or  fall  back  upon  Fort  Edward.  The  arri- 
val of  the  remains  of  the  rear-guard,  ten  days  after,  at  Manchester, 
where  he  then  was,  decided  him  to  adopt  the  latter  course.  He 
reached  Fort  Edward,  on  the  12th  of  July,  and  found  Schuyler 
already  there.  Colonel  Long,  who  had  commanded  the  detachment 
in  charge  of  the  batteaux,  also  succeeded  in  gaining  Fort  Edward 
about  this  time.  At  this  post  the  consternation  was  general,  except 
in  the  heroic  soul  of  Schuyler.  To  add  to  the  calamity,  the  inhabi- 
tants of  the  surrounding  region,  struck  with  terror  by  the  retreat  of 
St.  Clair,  came  pouring  past  the  fort  on  their  flight  to  the  lower  set- 
tlements, having  abandoned  their  houses  and  crops  to  the  mercy  of 
the  foe.  At  this  day  we  can  scarcely  comprehend  the  excite- 
ment and  alarm  of  that  crisis.  Nor  was  it  confined  to  the  immediate 
vicinity  of  the  invading  host.  The  blow  struck  on  the  shores  of  Lake 
Champlain,  vibrated  through  the  land,  from  extremity  to  extremity, 
communicating  a  sense  of  horror  to  every  breast.  The  shock  at  once 
36  Y* 


£82  THE  HEROES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 

prostrated  St.  Clair  in  the  popular  estimation.  And  though  a  court- 
martiai  subsequently  exonerated  him,  declaring,  what  is  true,  that  he 
violated  no  military  rule,  the  verdict  of  the  country  has  been,  from 
that  day  to  this,  unfavorable  to  the  genius  and  heroism  of  the  beaten 
General. 

Let  us  not  be  misunderstood.  St.  Clair  was  guilty  only  of  a 
negative  fault.  He  did  not  do  all  that  a  Ney,  or  Macdonald  would 
have  done :  yet  he  did  every  thing  that  military  rules  required. 
Napoleon  would  have  condemned  him,  nevertheless.  The  popular 
verdict  was  more  true  than  that  of  the  court-martial,  at  least  for  the 
purposes  of  history,  which  should  endeavor  to  make  the  hero  and 
not  the  mere  General  the  standard.  St.  Clair,  however,  did  not  lose 
the  confidence  of  Washington.  A  sense  of  the  injustice  done  the 
unfortunate  General,  in  imputing  treasonable  motives  to  him,  had 
its  effect  in  producing  this  course  on  the  part  of  the  Commander-in- 
chief,  though,  it  is  beyond  a  doubt,  his  opinion  of  St.  Glair's  capacity 
was  not  as  high,  after  these  events,  as  it  had  been  before.  His 
appointment  of  this  General  to  the  command  of  the  Miami  expedi- 
tion, in  1791,  does  not  disprove  this  statement:  for  the  post  was  one 
to  which  St.  Clair  was  entitled  by  seniority;  and  besides,  though  not 
a  first-rate  officer,  he  was  one  of  average  ability.  •  In  short,  St.  Clair 
was  not  equal  to  Greene  as  a  strategist ;  and  was  inferior  to  Putnam 
as  a  leader  in  battle :  yet  there  is  no  evidence  that  he  was  worse 
than  several  other  general  officers  who  have  escaped  opprobrium. 
And  whatever  may  be  thought  of  his  abilities,  his  patriotism  must 
stand  unquestioned. 

St.  Clair  was  present  at  the  battle  of  Brandy  wine,  though  he  held 
no  command.  He  was  also  at  Yorktown  when  Cornwallis  surren- 
dered, having  arrived  a  few  days  before  the  capitulation.  From 
this  place  he  was  despatched  with  six  regiments  to  the  aid  of  Greene, 
but  the  struggle  in  the  Carol inas  had  terminated  before  he  reached 
his  destination.  On  the  conclusion  of  peace,  St.  Clair  retired  to 
Pennsylvania,  of  which  state  he  was  elected  a  member  of  Congress 
in  1786.  In  1787  he  was  chosen  President  of  that  commonwealth. 
In  178S  he  was  appointed  Governor  of  the  north-western  territory. 
It  thus  appears  that  the  obloquy  which  had,  at  first,  attended  the 
loss  of  Ticonderoga  had  gradually  subsided,  and  that  his  country, 
sensible  of  the  injustice  she  had  done  him,  was  not  unwilling  to 
make  some  amends.  In  Pennsylvania,  where  he  was  regarded 
almost  as  a  native-born  citizen,  he  had  never  been  so  unpopular  as 
in  the  more  northern  states ;  and  he  now  continued  to  enjoy  the 
confidence  of  that  commonwealth  to  a  large  degree. 


ARTHUR    ST.   CLAIR.  283 

St.  Clair  appeared  but  once  more  before  the  people  as  a  military 
leader,  and  on  this  last  occasion  failed  as  fatally  as  at  Ticonderoga, 
and  from  similar  causes.  The  Indian  depredators  on  the  Miami 
requiring  chastisement,  Washington,  in  1791,  despatched  an  army 
to  their  country.  The  force  was  entrusted  to  St.  Clair.  On  the  1st 
of  September  he  left  Fort  Washington,  and  moving  north  in  the 
direction  of  the  enemy's  territories,  had,  on  the  3rd  of  November, 
arrived  within  fifteen  miles  of  the  Indians.  During  the  march,  his 
force  had  dwindled  down,  in  consequence  of  desertion  and  other 
causes,  from  two  thousand  to  fourteen  hundred  men.  On  the  morn- 
ing of  the  3rd,  just  after  parade,  the  savages  made  an  unexpected 
assault  on  St.  Clair's  army,  and,  driving  in  the  militia,  who  were 
posted  in  advance,  precipitated  them,  a  mass  of  affrighted  fugitives, 
on. the  regulars,  whom  they  threw  into  disorder.  The  Americans 
were  soon  surrounded,  and  most  of  their  officers  and  artillerists 
picked  off.  The  men,  now  huddled  together  in  confusion,  became 
an  easy  prey  to  the  bullets  of  their  concealed  foe.  A  terrific  slaugh- 
ter ensued.  St.  Clair,  in  vain  endeavored  to  rally  his  troops,  and 
finally  was  forced  to  give  the  order  to  retreat.  This  retrograde 
movement  was  soon  changed  into  a  flight,  the  men  even  casting 
aside  their  arms  in  order  to  assist  their  speed ;  nor  did  the  fugitives 
pause  until,  on  the  evening  of  that  day,  they  reached  Fort  Jefferson, 
thirty  miles  from  the  field  of  battle.  In  this  sanguinary  defeat  the 
army  of  St.  Clair  lost  thirty-eight  officers  and  five  hundred  and  nine- 
ty-three soldiers  killed  ;  while  twenty-one  officers  and  two  hundred 
and  forty-two  men  were  wounded.  The  Indian  force  was  probably 
from  one  thousand  to  fifteen  hundred. 

This  defeat  again  covered  St.  Clair  with  popular  odium,  which 
was  not  lessened  by  the  brilliant  victory  of  Wayne  in  the  succeeding 
campaign.  St.  Clair's  error  appears  to  have  been  the  same  with  that 
of  Braddock,  a  too  rigid  adherence  to  military  rules  unsuited  to  fron- 
tier warfare.  An  unfortunate  disagreement  with  his  second  in  com- 
mand contributed  also  to  the  disaster.  The  loss  of  this  battle  closed 
the  military  career  of  St.  Clair.  He  was  continued  in  his  office  of 
Governor  of  the  north-western  territory,  however,  through  the  rest 
of  Washington's  term,  and  the  succeeding  administration  of  John 
Adams;  but  in  1802,  was  removed  by  President  Jefferson. 

He  now  returned  to  Ligonier  Valley.  But  he  was  no  longer 
wealthy.  The  little  property  which  had  remained  to  him  at  the 
close  of  the  Revolution,  had  now  been  dissipated,  in  various  vicissi- 
tudes of  fortune.  At  one  period,  prior  to  his  appointment  to  the 
north-west  territory,  he  appears  to  have  enjoyed  comparative  opu- 


284 


THE  HEROES  OP  THE  REVOLUTION. 


lence,  for  a  cotemporary  describes  him  as  engaged  in  .the  business 
of  an  auctioneer  and  living  in  elegant  style  in  Philadelphia.  But 
this  prosperity  had  long  since  departed.  He  was  now  poor,  unpopu- 
lar, and  without  influence.  He  still  held  some  claims  against  gov- 
ernment, and  on  these  he  fondly  relied  as  the  support  of  his  old  age. 
But  the  claims  were  barred  by  technicalities.  At  last  in  despair,  he 
is  said  to  have  sought  refuge  in  the  family  of  a  widowed  daughter, 
living  in  a  condition  of  the  greatest  penury.  Relief  finally  came, 
though  not  from  his  country.  It  was  his  adopted  state  which  stepped 
forward  to  his  aid,  and  by  settling  on  him  an  annuity  of  three  hun- 
dred dollars,  rescued  him  from  positive  indigence.  Soon  after,  this 
annuity  was  raised  to  six  hundred  and  fifty  dollars. 

St.  Clair  died  on  the  31st  of  August,  1818,  having  survived  to  the 
age  of  eighty -four. 


PHILIP    SCHUYLER. 


HILIP  Schuyler,  a  Ma- 
jor-General in  the  con- 
tinental army,  was  born 
at  Albany,  in  J733.  He 
was  descended  from  the 
ancient  Dutch  family  of 
Schuyler,  so  conspicuous 
in  the  early  history  of 
New  York.  His  abilities 
were  rather  solid  than 
brilliant.  Of  great  energy, 
full  of  resources,  industrious,  courageous,  never  yielding  to  despair, 
he  was  capable  of  great  deeds ;  and,  having  been  in  command  of  the 
northern  department  during  most  of  the  expedition  of  Burgoyne, 
should  share,  with  Gates,  the  credit  of  the  Saratoga  convention.  He 
was  a  patriot  in  the  highest  sense  of  that  term.  Possessing  a  large 
fortune,  he  risked  it  all  for  his  country.  Unjustly  treated  by  Congress, 
he  served  them  notwithstanding  their  ingratitude.  Though  of  quick 

285 


286  THE  HEROES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 

temper,  he  was  magnanimous;  and  in  his  whole  life  was  never 
guilty  of  a  meanness.  His  social  qualities  were  the  delight  of  his 
family  and  friends. 

Schuyler  received  an  excellent  education,  at  least  for  the  colonies, 
and  rose  to  eminence  among  his  young  companions,  in  the  study  of 
mathematics.  He  early  turned  his  attention  to  military  affairs.  In 
1755,  he  took  part,  with  the  rank  of  Captain,  in  the  unfortunate  ex- 
pedition against  Ticonderoga ;  and,  after  the  death  of  Lord  Howe, 
was  deputed  to  attend  the  corpse  back  to  Albany.  He  afterwards 
served  as  a  member  of  the  Provincial  Assembly,  and  made  himself 
conspicuous  by  his  bold  and  resolute  stand  in  favor  of  the  rights  of 
the  colonies.  He  moved,  and  carried,  after  a  strong  debate,  a  series 
of  resolutions  asserting  that  the  Stamp  Act,  and  others  of  the  op- 
pressive measures  of  the  ministry,  were  grievances  which  ought  to 
be  redressed.  This  decided  conduct,  so  early  in  the  struggle,  and 
from  a  man  who  had  such  large  hereditary  possessions  at  stake,  de- 
serves for  the  name  of  Schuyler  the  lasting  gratitude  of  America. 
Without  him,  and  Clinton,  and  Woodhull,  New  York  would  proba- 
bly have  been  lost  to  the  confederation  ! 

Schuyler  was  a  member  of  the  second  Continental  Congress,  and 
there  formed  that  intimacy  with  Washington,  which  ended  only  with 
the  death  of  the  latter.  When  the  army  was  organized  with  Wash- 
ington as  Commander-in-chief,  Schuyler  was  appointed  one  of  the 
Major-Generals,  and  assigned  the  command  of  the  northern  depart- 
ment. In  September  he  was  directed  to  invade  Canada.  Being, 
however,  seized  with  illness  and  incapacitated  from  exertion  in  the 
field,  he  was  forced  to  return  to  Albany,  when  the  command 
devolved  upon  Montgomery,  who  gallantly  and  faithfully  executed 
his  trust,  until  he  fell,  in  the  arms  of  glory,  on  the  fatal  plains  of 
Abraham.  Having  recovered  from  his  indisposition  he  was  ordered 
to  Tryon  county,  in  his  native  state,  to  adjust  the  disturbances  exist- 
ing there.  In  the  depth  of  winter  he  marched  up  the  Mohawk, 
quelled  the  threatened  storm,  and  established  a  treaty  with  the  hos- 
tile Indians.  His  powers,  both  of  mind  and  body,  were  taxed  to 
their  utmost,  at  this  period,  by  the  requirements  of  Congress ;  but, 
having  once  dedicated  himself  to  his  country,  he  hesitated  at  no 
sacrifice  of  time  or  health. 

To  give  an  idea  of  the  immense  labor  Schuyler  went  through,  we 
will  state  his  duties  for  the  space  of  little  over  a  year.  In  December, 
1775,  he  was  ordered,  as  we  have  seen,  to  disarm  the  tories  of 
Tryon  county;  on  the  8th  of  January,  1776,  he  was  directed  to 
have  the  river  St.  Lawrence,  above  and  below  Quebec,  explored ; 
on  the  25th,  he  was  commanded  to  repair  Fort  Ticonderoga,  and 


PHILIP    SCHUVJLER.  287 

render  it  defensible;  on  the  17th  of  February,  he  was  summoned 
to  take  command  of  the  forces,  and  to  conduct  the  military  opera- 
tions at  the  city  of  New  York ;  in  March,  he  was  requested  to  fix 
his  head-quarters  at  Albany,  for  the  purpose  of  raising  and  forward- 
ing supplies  to  the  army  in  Canada;  in  June  he  was  called  on  to  hold 
a  conference,  and  establish  a  treaty,  if  possible,  with  the  Six  Nations; 
and  immediately  afterwards,  the  last  order  being  countermanded, 
he  was  hurried  away  to  Lake  Champlain,  to  build  vessels  to  resist 
the  English  armament  fitting  out  at  St.  Johns.  All  these  manifold 
duties  he  could  not,  of  course,  have  performed  under  his  immediate 
eye,  but  he  was  responsible  for  the  agents  he  selected,  and  neces- 
sarily compelled  to  superintend  their  performances,  to  a  certain 
degree.  Fortunately  he  was  quick  and  acute  in  the  despatch  of 
business.  Congress,  knowing  this  fact,  availed  themselves  largely 
of  his  assistance. 

Schuyler  had  been  superseded,  for  a  short  time,  in  the  command 
of  the  northern  army,  by  Gates.  When,  however,  the  long  threat- 
ened invasion  by  Burgoyne,  at  last  burst,  like  some  huge  tempest 
that  had  been  lowering  all  day  on  the  horizon,  he  was  again  at  the 
head  of  that  department,  and  prepared  to  resist  the  invaders  with 
heroic  resolution.  Never  had  there  been  a  more  splendid  army 
landed  in  America  than  that  which  accompanied  Burgoyne.  The 
British  ministry  had  allowed  that  General  to  dictate  the  number  and 
quality  of  his  own  forces,  in  fact,  had  surrendered  to  him  the  entire 
supervision  of  the  whole  affair.  His  brilliant  reputation  promised 
results  the  most  glorious  to  England,  the  most  disastrous  to  America. 
At  the  head  of  ten  thousand  veteran  troops,  and  with  a  magnificent 
train  of  artillery,  while  clouds  of  savages  and  Canadians  hung  on  his 
flanks  and  brought  him  the  earliest  intelligence  of  the  movements 
of  his  foe,  Burgoyne  advanced  from  Canada,  like  some  invincible 
hero,  scattering  proclamations  full  of  promises  to  those  who  would 
return  to  their  allegiance,  but  breathing  only  vengeance  and  destruc- 
tion to  those  who  should  dare  to  oppose  his  steps.  At  first,  he 
swept  everything  before  him.  The  once  impregnable  fortress  of 
Ticonderoga  in  vain  opposed  his  progress.  The  country,  which  had 
trusted,  perhaps,  too  securely  in  its  strength,  was  paralyzed  on  hear- 
ing of  its  fall,  and  a  general  cry  of  horror  rose  up,  from  one  end  of 
the  continent  to  the  other  ! 

The  news  of  the  capture  of  Ticonderoga  reached  Schuyler  at 
Stillwater.  Pursuing  his  journey,  he  heard,  on  the  same  day,  at 
Saratoga,  of  the  loss  of  the  stores  at  Skeensborough.  As  yet,  how- 
ever, he  had  received  no  intelligence  of  St.  Clair.  Hurrying  forward 
to  Fort  Edward,  he  arrived  there  just  in  time  to  welcome  his  unfor- 


288  THE    HEROES    OF    THE    REVOLUTION. 

tunate  siibordinate,  who,  with  troops  worn  down  with  fatigue,  and 
himself  jaded,  in  mind  and  body,  reached  there  on  the  10th  of  July. 
The  whole  force  under  Schuyler,  even  after  the  junction  of  St.  Clair, 
amounted  to  little  over  four  thousand,  including  the  militia.  He 
was  in  want  of  every  necessary  for  his  soldiers,  who  themselves 
were  broken  down  and  dispirited.  Indeed,  when  he  looked  back 
on  the  reverses  which  had  attended  his  command,  he  could  scarcely 
rally  his  own  spirits ;  for,  in  the  late  actions,  the  Americans  had  lost 
one  hundred  and  twenty-eight  pieces  of  artillery,  with  a  vast  quan- 
tity of  warlike  stores,  baggage  and  provisions.  But  Schuyler  did 
not  allow  even  this  consideration  to  make  him  despond.  He  felt 
that  the  crisis  was  one  demanding  energy,  and  that,  if  errors  had 
been  committed  by  others,  it  was  his  part  to  repair  them.  The 
enemy  still  lay  at  Skeensborough,  from  which  the  navigation  up 
Wood  Creek  was  comparatively  easy  to  Fort  Anne,  within  sixteen 
miles  of  Fort  Edward.  Between  these  two  latter  places,  the  country 
was  covered  with  thick  woods,  was  almost  entirely  unsettled,  and 
was  cut  up  by  creeks  and  morasses.  To  retard  the  progress  of  his 
enemy,  and  thus  gain  time,  was  the  course  adopted  by  Schuyler ; 
and  was  the  wisest  which  could  have  been  selected  under  the  cir- 
cumstances. He  despatched  parties  to  impede  the  navigation  of 
Wood  Creek,  to  break  up  the  bridges,  to  fell  trees  across  the  roads, 
and  to  render  the  ravines  everywhere  impassable.  He  also  ordered 
what  live  stock  there  was  on  the  route  to  be  driven  into  Fort  Ed- 
ward. Thus,  nothing  but  a  savage  wilderness  was  left  for  Burgoyne 
to  traverse,  rendered  more  inhospitable  and  dreary  by  every  device 
of  human  ingenuity.  As  a  further  resource,  Schuyler  detached 
Colonel  Warner  to  hang  on  the  enemy's  left  flank,  and  endeavor  to 
raise  the  militia  in  that  quarter,  trusting  that  the  British  General 
would  become  alarmed  for  his  communications,  and  weaken  his 
main  army  by  sending  back  a  reinforcement  to  Ticonderoga. 

Meantime,  the  first  stunning  blow  having  passed  away,  the  country 
began  to  rally  to  Schuyler's  support.  Washington  wrote,  in  the 
most  cheering  terms,  from  his  head-quarters.  "  We  should  never 
despair,"  he  said.  "  Our  situation  has  before  been  unpromising, 
and  has  changed  for  the  better.  So,  I  trust,  it  will  again."  He 
accompanied  these  expressions  by  the  most  energetic  efforts  to  assist 
the  northern  army.  He  ordered  a  supply  of  tents  to  be  obtained  for 
Schuyler ;  he  procured  artillery  and  ammunition  to  be  forwarded 
from  Massachusetts ;  he  directed  General  Lincoln  to  raise  the  militia 
of  that  commonwealth,  and  hasten  to  the  aid  of  Schuyler ;  and  he 
despatched  General  Arnold,  and  also  Colonel  Morgan,  with  the 
latter's  celebrated  corps  of  riflemen,  in  hopes  that  the  presence  of 


PHILIP    SCHUYLER.  289 

these  two  gallant  officers  might  re-animate  the  northern  troops.  In 
consequence,  appearances  at  Fort  Edward  began  to  assume  a  more 
cheerful  aspect.  The  numbers  of  militia  there  augmented  daily. 
A  large  reinforcement  of  continental  troops  had  hurried  up  from 
Peekskill.  Every  day,  however,  while  these  additions  to  his  force 
were  going  on,  Schuyler  had  to  listen  to  the  doleful  tales  of  the  fugi- 
tive settlers,  who,  deserting  their  houses  and  farms  on  the  route  of 
Burgoyne,  rushed  forward  to  Fort  Edward  as  their  only  hope  of 
safety.  The  British  General,  slowly  working  his  way  through  the 
obstacles  which  had  been  thrown  in  his  path,  was  advancing,  like 
some  huge  serpent  toiling  at  every  foot  of  land  over  which  it  dragged 
its  weary  body,  yet  certain  of  its  prey  at  last. 

It  was  the  30th  of  July  before  the  enemy  reached  Fort  Edward, 
and  when  they  arrived,  to  their  chagrin  they  found  it  tenantless. 
Schuyler,  not  deeming  it  advisable  to  wait  Burgoyne's  approach, 
had  retired  over  the  Hudson  to  Saratoga  :  and  soon  after,  continuing 
his  retreat,  he  fell  back  to  Stillwater,  near  the  mouth  of  the  Mohawk. 
The  country  along  this  route  was  better  populated  than  above  Fort 
Edward,  and  universal  consternation  now  spread  among  the  inhabi- 
tants. The  news  of  the  melancholy  tragedy  of  Miss  McCrea  had, 
by  this  time,  spread  far  and  wide,  and,  exaggerated  in  all  its  details, 
brought  mortal  terror  wherever  it  was  heard.  Other  atrocities  com- 
mitted by  the  savages  who  attended  Burgoyne  were  rehearsed,  until 
the  hairs  of  the.  listeners  stood  on  end,  and  the  mother,  clasping  her 
babe,  thought  no  longer  of  preserving  her  once  happy  home,  but  only 
of  seeking  safety  in  flight.  The  massacre  at  Fort  Henry  during  the 
last  war,  was  recalled  to  memory,  to  increase  the  dismay  and  horror 
of  the  settlers.  A  universal  affright  seized  on  the  inhabitants.  The 
old  man  grasped  his  cane,  and  giving  a  last  look  on  the  home  pro- 
vided for  his  declining  days,  took  up  a  long  journey  for  the  lower 
districts :  the  sturdy  father  yoked  his  team,  and  placing  his  family 
in  it  with  a  few  household  goods,  shouldered  his  musket  and  set 
forth  in  the  same  direction  ;  while  the  widowed  matron,  gathering 
her  little  ones  around  her,  and  looking  back,  through  blinding  tears, 
on  the  deserted  habitation  that  was  the  sole  support  of  her  children, 
followed  wearily  in  the  track  of  the  other  fugitives.  In  the  haste  to 
fly,  many  left  the  corn  standing  in  the  field,  and  the  grain  piled  in 
their  barns.  Others,  with  a  resolution  born  of  despair,  fired  their 
houses  and  destroyed  their  crops  before  beginning  their  flight,  in 
order  that  the  enemy  might  derive  no  assistance  from  these  supplies. 
Thus,  the  population,  as  when  the  ice  breaks  up  in  some  vast  river, 
hurried  towards  the  south,  until  accumulating  in  one  enormous  pile, 
37  2 


290  THE  HEROES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 


MASSA'CRE   AT    FORT    HENRY    IN   SEVENTEEN   HUNDRED   AND   FIFTY -SEVEN. 

it  choked  up  its  own  passage  and  remained  an  impassable  barrier 
for  the  foe. 

But  while  the1  whole  community  was  flying  before  him,  and  a  once 
smiling  country  becoming  a  depopulated  waste,  Burgoyne  was  be- 
ginning to  experience  those  difficulties  which  the  far-seeing  wisdom 
of  Schuyler  had  prepared  for  him.  The  surrounding  districts  being 
universally  hostile,  he  was  forced  to  draw  all  his  provisions  from  Ti- 
conderoga,  and  accordingly,  from  the  30th  of  July  to  the  15th 
of  August,  his  time  was  monopolized  in  forwarding  stores  from  the 
lower  extremity  of  Lake  George,  to  the  first  navigable  point  on  the 
Hudson,  a  distance  of  eighteen  miles.  The  roads  were  steep,  broken 
and  out  of  repair.  Incessant  rains  fell  and  added  to  his  difficulties. 
Scarcely  one-third  of  the  horses  expected  from  Canada  had  arrived. 
With  difficulty  so  small  a  number  as  fifty  pair  of  oxen  had  been 
procured.  Under  all  these  complicated  misfortunes  it  was  found 
toilsome  to  supply  the  army  with  food  from  day  to  day,  and  utterly 
impracticable  to  collect  such  a  store  as  would  furnish  a  magazine  for 
the  campaign.  On  the  15th  of  August,  Burgoyne  had  provisions  for 
only  four  days.  Like  the  man  in  the  fairy  tale,  he  had  entered  with- 
in an  enchanted  forest,  where  every  step  only  carried  him  further 
from  hope,  and  where  the  clouds  gathered  darker  and  the  thunder 
muttered  louder  as  the  day  advanced. 

In  this  emergency  he  determined  on  an  enterprise  which  he  fondly 
believed  would  extricate  him  from  his  difficulties.  At  the  village  of 
Bennington,  about  twenty  miles  east  of  the  Hudson,  the  Americans 


PHILIP    SCHUYLER.  291 

had  collected  large  quantities  of  live  cattle,  corn,  and  other  necessa- 
ries ;  and  Burgoyne,  anticipating  an  easy  conquest,  resolved  to  detach 
Colonel  Baum,  with  six  hundred  men,  to  capture  this  place  and  ex- 
pedite the  provisions  from  there  to  the  royal  camp.  Baron  Riedesel 
in  vain  expostulated  against  this  division  of  the  forces,  and  hinted  at 
the  possibility  of  the  expedition  being  cut  off.  But  Burgoyne  saw  no 
alternative.  A  crisis  had  come  when  it  was  necessary  to  draw  sup- 
plies from  the  surrounding  country  or  retreat.  He  counted  on  the 
bravery  of  his  troops  for  a  certain  victory,  and  believed  that  such  a 
check  would  strike  terror  and  insure  the  neutrality  of  the  inhabitants. 
Two  hundred  of  Baum's  force  were  dismounted  dragoons,  who  were 
to  obtain  horses  for  themselves  during  this  forage ;  and,  in  order  to 
facilitate  the  bperations  of  the  detachment  as  far  as  possible,  Bur- 
goyne moved  down  the  Hudson  and  established  himself  nearly  oppo- 
site to  Saratoga.  The  result  of  this  expedition  was  the  decisive  bat- 
tle of  Bennington,  in  which  Stark,  at  the  head  of  the  New  England 
militia,  stormed  and  carried  the  entrenchments  of  Baum,  after  a  ter- 
rific contest  two  hours  in  duration.  A  few  days  afterwards  another 
misfortune  befell  Burgoyne.  This  was  the  defeat  of  Colonel  St. 
Leger,  at  Fort  Schuyler,  on  the  Mohawk,  by  which  that  officer  was 
compelled  to  retire  in  confusion  to  Montreal,  instead  of  advancing 
in  triumph  to  Albany  and  there  joining  Burgoyne,  as  had  been  ar- 
ranged in  the  original  plan  of  the  campaign. 

Everything  now  promised  a  speedy  victory  over  this  proud  Brit- 
ish army,  which,  so  lately,  with  the  pomp  of  a  conquering  host,  had 
darkened  the  waters  of  the  lake.  The  measures  of  Schuyler  were 
beginning  to  bear  their  fruit.  From  all  sides  the  militia,  aroused 
to  a  sense  of  the  danger,  were  pouring  into  the  American  camp.  Al- 
ready the  terror  of  Burgoyne 's  name  was  broken.  The  fall  of  Ticon- 
deroga  had  not  been  able  long  to  depress  the  public  mind ;  and  on  a 
nearer  view  of  their  condition,  the  neighboring  inhabitants  began  to 
take  courage.  To  despair  had  first  succeeded  hope,  and  now  followed 
the  certainty  of  success.  As  the  spirits  of  the  Americans  rose,  those 
of  the  enemy  fell.  The  timid,  who  had  lately  leaned  to  the  British 
side,  now  came  out  openly  in  favor  of  their  countrymen  ;  the  disaf- 
fected, alarmed  at  the  aspect  things  were  assuming,  hesitated  before 
they  took  the  irrevocable  step ;  and  the  open  tories,  who  had  been 
active  in  assisting  the  enemy,  began  to  tremble  for  their  families,  if 
not  for  themselves,  and  express  their  anxiety  that  Clinton,  by  a  bold 
push  up  the  Hudson,  should  form  a  junction  with  Burgoyne  and  an- 
nihilate at  once  the  hopes  of  the  Americans.  Every  day  added  to 
the  embarrassments  of  the  royal  army.  Every  day  increased  the 
numbers  of  Schuyler's  force.  Like  a  hive  of  ants  suddenly  disturbed 


292  THE  HEROES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 

the  neighboring  population  thronged  to  the  scene  of  strife,  until  the 
land,  far  and  near,  was  in  a  buzz  with  the  advancing  hosts. 

But  Schuyler  was  not  destined  to  reap  the  victory  for  which  he 
had  so  laboriously  sown.     Although  not  present  at  the  fall  of  Ticon- 
deroga,  as  the  superior  officer  he  had  come  in  for  his  share  of  blame  ; 
and  in  New  England  especially,  where  the  loss  was  most  keenly 
felt,  the   charge   of  treason  was   openly  whispered   against   him. 
Schuyler  had  never  been  popular  with  the  troops  of  Connecticut, 
Massachusetts  and  New  Hampshire  ;  and,  perhaps,  for  reasons  sim- 
ilar to  those  which  rendered  Putnam  unpopular  in  New  York.  Local 
prejudices,  at  that  day,  were  stronger  than  at  present ;  and  being  a 
New  Englander  as  frequently  condemned  a  man  in  New  York,  as 
being  a  New  Yorker  condemned  a  man  in  New  England.     This  sec- 
tional feeling  was  the  basis  of  Schuyler's  unpopularity.     The  mis- 
fortunes of  the  earlier  part  of  the  summer  afforded  room  for  his 
enemies  to  dilate  on  his  pretended  incapacity ;  and  the  current  of 
opinion,  especially  in  the  neighboring  states,  soon  set  so  strongly 
against  him  as  to  render  his  removal  desirable.     It  often  becomes 
necessary  for  a  government  to  yield  to  popular  clamor,  even  when 
unjust,  and  the  present  instance  was  an  example ;  for  it  was  feared 
that  the  New  England  troops  would  not  rally  properly,  unless  under 
a  favorite  leader.     Schuyler  was  accordingly  superseded,  and  Gates 
appointed  in  his  place.     The  unfairness  of  being  recalled  at  this  cri- 
sis, when  victory  was  certain,  was  felt  acutely  by  the  disgraced  Gene- 
ral.    "  It  is,"  he  wrote  to  Washington,  "  matter  of  extreme  chagrin 
to  me  to  be  deprived  of  the  command  at  a  time  when,  soon  if 
ever,  we  shall  probably  be  enabled  to  face  the  enemy ;  when  we  are 
on  the  point  of  taking  ground  where  they  must  attack  to  a  disadvan- 
tage, should  our  force  be  inadequate  to  facing  them  in  the  field ;  when 
an  opportunity  willj  in  all  probability,  occur,  in  which  I  might  evince 
that  I  am  not  what  Congress  have  too  plainly  insinuated,  by  taking 
the  command  from  me."     The  Commander-in-chief  secretly  acknow- 
ledged the  force  of  these  reasons,  and  saw,  with  regret,  his  old  and 
valued  friend  made  an  unavoidable  sacrifice  to  local  prejudices,  for 
the  good  of  the  common  cause  ! 

This  is  the  proper  place  for  a  remark,  forced  on  us  by  the  circum- 
stances we  are  considering.  It  is  that  the  local  prejudices  of  that 
period  have  survived  in  part  and  that  even  grave  historians  now 
canvass  the  relative  merits  of  revolutionary  Generals  from  different 
sections  of  the  union,  and  the  comparative  sacrifices  made  by  the 
various  commonwealths  in  behalf  of  the  common  cause.  There 
should  be  no  such  jealousies  admitted  at  this  day.  Let  a  holy  veil 
hang  over  the  dissensions  of  the  past !  Every  quarter  of  the  union 


PHILIP  SCHUYLER.  293 

"          t 

furnished  its  distinguished  men  for  the  war  of  independence.  Wash- 
ington came  from  Virginia,  Putnam  from  Connecticut,  Schuyler  and 
the  Clintons  from  New  York,  Wayne  from  Pennsylvania,  Marion 
from  South  Carolina,  and  a  host  of  others,  less  distinguished,  because 
perhaps  less  favored  by  circumstances,  from  the  most  remote  sec- 
tions of  the  confederation.  In  civil  talents  also  the  honors  were 
equally  divided.  The  middle  states  afforded  Jay  and  Morris,  the 
New  England  states  Hancock  and  Adams,  Virginia  Jefferson  and 
Henry,  South  Carolina  her  immortal  Rutledge.  Nor  can  the  impartial 
annalist  award  to  any  portion  of  the  country  the  palm  of  superior  sacri- 
fices in  the  war.  The  New  England  states  nominally  furnished  the 
most  men,  but  their  recruits  were  generally  for  nine  months  ;  hence, 
they  counted  three  or  four  times  where  the  recruits  of  other  states, 
enlisting  for  three  years,  counted  once.  After  the  first  year  of  the 
war,  New  England  was  comparatively  free  from  the  presence  of  an 
enemy,  while  the  middle  and  southern  states  were  ravaged  without 
intermission.  It  must  be  remembered,  likewise,  that  in  New  York 
and  Pennsylvania  the  number  of  loyalists  was  much  greater  than  in 
New  England,  and  that  consequently  the  exertions  of  the  patriots  in 
the  former  states,  even  if  apparently  less,  were  in  reality  as  great  as 
in  the  more  united  provinces.  There  were  more  large  fortunes  to  be 
lost  in  the  middle  states  than  in  New  England,  and  hence  the  risk 
the  patriots  there  ran  was  relatively  greater.  In  short,  it  would  be 
invidious  to  exalt  one  portion  of  the  confederation  at  the  expense  of 
the  other.  If  Boston  was  the  cradle  of  the  Revolution,  Philadelphia 
was  the  altar  where  it  was  baptised.  If,  at  Lexington  the  ball  of 
the  Revolution  was  set  in  motion,  at  Yorktown  it  received  the  stroke 
that  sent  it  victoriously  home. 

Though  Schuyler,  by  his  removal  at  this  juncture  suffered  a  greater 
injury  than  was  inflicted  on  any  other  individual  during  the  war,  he 
did  not  allow  his  exertions  in  behalf  of  his  country  to  be  affected  by 
it.  He  was  the  same  noble-hearted  patriot,  whether  in  retirement 
or  surrounded  by  power.  On  the  arrival  of  Gates,  he  communicated 
to  his  successor  all  the  information  he  possessed,  and  placing  every 
paper  in  his  hands,  added,  "  I  have  done  all  that  could  be  done  as 
far  as  the  means  were  in  my  power,  to  injure  the  enemy,  and  to 
inspire  confidence  in  the  soldiers  of  our  army,  and  I  flatter  myself 
with  some  success  ;  but  the  palm  of  victory  is  denied  me,  and  it  is 
left  to  you,  General,  to  reap  the  fruits  of  my  labors.  I  will  not  fail, 
however,  to  second  your  views ;  and  my  devotion  to  my  country 
will  cause  me  with  alacrity  to  obey  all  your  orders."  He  kept  his 

word,  and  by  his  knowledge  of  the  country,  and  his  popularity 

z* 


294  THE  HEROES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 

among  the  surrounding  inhabitants,  was  of  frequent  assistance  to 
Gates.  On  the  16th  of  October,  less  than  two  months  after  he  was 
superseded,  the  whole  British  army  surrendered  as  prisoners  of  war. 
A  popular  anecdote  is  told  of  General  Schuyler  on  this  event.  Dining 
with  Burgoyne,  the  captive  General  apologized  to  him  for  having 
a  few  days  before,  burnt  the  latter's  elegant  country  seat.  "  Make 
no  excuses,  my  dear  General,"  was  the  felicitous  reply ;  "  I  feel 
myself  more  than  compensated  by  the  pleasure  of  meeting  you  at 
this  table/'  The  courtesy  and  kindness  of  heart  of  Schuyler  was 
evinced,  at  the  same  period,  by  his  delicacy  towards  the  Baroness 
Riedesel,  the  wife  of  one  of  the  prisoners. 

In  the  first  moments  of  indignation,  after  hearing  of  the  loss  of 
Ticonderoga,  Congress,  by  a  sweeping  resolve,  recalled  all  the  Gene- 
rals of  the  northern  department,  and  directed  an  inquiry  to  be  made 
into  their  conduct.  On  the  remonstrance  of  Washington,  however, 
who  represented  the  peril  to  the  service,  of  a  recall  of  the  Generals 
in  this  crisis, the  intention  was,  for  the  present,  abandoned.  Ultimately 
it  was  put  in  force,  as  we  have  seen,  against  Schuyler.  After  the 
surrender  of  Burgoyne,  the  misused  General  was  urgent  for  a  court- 
martial,  which  was  finally  granted.  By  this  body  he  was  honorably 
acquitted.  He  now  sought,  and  obtained  leave  to  resign  his  com- 
mission. He  had  long  contemplated  this  measure,  and  only  delayed 
it  until  his  exculpation  ;  nor,  under  the  circumstances,  can  we  blame 
his  decision.  There  was  no  chance  of  his  ever  being  useful  again  in 
a  military  capacity  to  his  country  ;  for  the  prejudices  against  him 
would  forbid  his  employment  in  any  station  worthy  his  rank.  Be- 
sides, the  crisis  of  the  war  was  considered  past.  Yet  there  was  nothing 
of  passionate  revenge  in  this  decision  of  Schuyler ;  the  assistance  he 
rendered  Gates  proved  he  was  above  such  littleness.  He  was  still 
willing  to  serve  his  country,  though  in  another  capacity.  How  dif- 
ferent this  conduct  from  that  of  Arnold,  who,  on  far  less  provoca- 
tion, became  a  traitor  ! 

After  his  retirement  from  the  army,  Schuyler  entered  Congress, 
where  he  served  during  the  sessions  of  1777  and  1779.  He  subse- 
quently occupied  a  seat  in  the  Senate  of  his  native  state.  In  1789, 
after  the  adoption  of  the  federal  constitution,  he  was  elected  a  United 
States  Senator  from  New  York,  and  in  1797  was  re-elected  for 
another  term.  His  health  beginning  to  give  way,  however,  he 
resigned.  He  died  in  November,  1804,  a  short  time  after  his  son-in- 
law,  Alexander  Hamilton — an  event  which  is  said  to  have  hastened 
his  own  death.  At  the  period  of  his  decease  he  had  attained  the 
age  of  seventy-one. 


JOHN    STARK. 


O  John  Stark  of  New  Hampshire, 
a  Major-General  in  the  continental 
line,  belongs  the  credit  of  having 
been  the  only  man,  during  the  war 
of  independence,  who,  at  the  head 
\  of  a  body  of  militia,  stormed  and 
carried  entrenchments  defended  by 
veteran  troops.  At  Bunker  Hill, 
the  British  regulars,  though  assisted 
by  artillery,  and  exceeding  in  num- 
bers the  Americans,  were  twice 
driven  back,  and  would  probably 
have  been  a  third  time  repulsed, 
but  for  the  failure  of  their  ammunition ;  while  at  Bennington,  the 

295 


296  THE  HEROES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 

New  England  militia  successfully  assaulted  works  defended  by 
batteries,  and  utterly  defeated  one  of  the  finest  corps  in  the  army  of 
Burgoyne.  Much  of  the  glory  of  this  achievement  belongs  exclu- 
sively to  Stark,  whose  influence  over  his  raw  levies  was  miraculous, 
and  whose  skill  availed  itself  of  every  possible  contingency  in  his 
favor.  In  short,  the  hero  of  Bennington  was  one  of  the  ablest  mili- 
tary men  of  the  Revolution,  and,  but  for  his  strong  local  prejudices 
and  tenacity  on  the  score  of  rank,  would  have  deserved  unqualified 
praise  as  a  patriot.  We  do  not  mean  to  imply,  however,  that  Stark 
was  not  devoted  to  his  country,  but  only  that  he  gave  the  preference 
to  that  portion  of  it  where  he  was  born  and  bred :  "  not  that  he  loved 
America  less,  but  New  England  more."  Nor  can  his  tenacity  on 
the  point  of  military  rank,  fairly  be  reprehended.  It  is  curious  to 
trace  the  effect  of  this  sentiment  on  three  prominent  men  of  the  Re- 
volution. Mercer,  in  the  enthusiasm  of  his  chivalric  soul,  declared 
his  willingness  to  fight,  even  in  the  most  subordinate  capacity. 
Stark,  with  more  of  personal  feeling,  resigned  his  commission  when 
he  found  his  claims  neglected.  Arnold,  in  whom  there  was  an 
almost  total  absence  of  the  moral  sense,  became  a  traitor,  to  revenge 
similar  wrongs.  In  Mercer  there  was  the  true  heroic  metal,  an 
absence  of  all  selfishness :  in  Stark  there  was  just  enough  leaven  of 
the  baser  feeling  to  reduce  his  character  to  the  scale  of  common 
humanity;  in  Arnold  selfishness  triumphed  over  patriotism,  and 
sunk  him  below  his  race,  to  be  execrated  as  a  villain  to  all  time  ! 

Stark  was  born  in  Londonderry,  New  Hampshire,  the  28th,  of 
August,  1728.  His  father  was  a  native  of  Glasgow,  who  had  emi- 
grated first  to  Ireland,  and  afterwards  to  America.  The  son  grew 
up  athletic  and  hardy,  though  with  but  little  education.  At  the  age 
of  twenty-four,  while  engaged  on  a  hunting  expedition,  he  was 
made  prisoner  by  the  savages.  In  the  perilous  situation  in  which 
he  now  found  himself,  he  first  displayed  those  qualities  of  mind 
which  afterwards  rendered  him  so  remarkable.  Brave  and  adven- 
turous, with  great  insight  into  character,  and  a  coolness  that  never 
deserted  him  in  emergencies,  he  was  always  ready  to  act,  and  in  the 
wisest  way,  when  others  lost  all  presence  of  mind.  An  instance  in 
point  soon  occurred.  He  was  carried  to  the  Indian  village,  with  a 
companion  taken  at  the  same  time,  and  the  young  warriors,  arming 
themselves  with  clubs,  and  forming  a  double  line,  ordered  their 
prisoners  to  run  the  customary  gauntlet.  The  companion  of  Stark 
suffered  a  severe  beating  before  he  could  gain  the  council  house. 
But  when  it  came  to  the  turn  of  the  latter,  suddenly  seizing  a  club 
from  the  first  warrior,  he  laid  about  him  right  and  left,  scattering  the 


JOHN    STARK.  297 

young  men  to  the  great  amusement  of  the  older  Indians,  and  reach- 
ing the  end  of  the  line  almost  without  receiving  a  blow.  Soon  after, 
he  was  ordered  to  hoe  corn,  when  he  destroyed  the  corn  and  pre- 
served the  weeds  :  and  finished  by  throwing  his  hoe  into  the  river, 
arid  declaring  it  was  a  business  only  fit  for  squaws,  and  not  for  war- 
riors. By  this  conduct,  founded  on  a  profound  knowledge  of  the 
Indian  character,  he  gained  the  applause  of  the  savages,  and  was 
adopted  by  them  into  their  tribe.  He  remained  with  them  for  some 
time,  and  until  ransomed  by  the  colony  of  Massachusetts.  He  was 
afterwards  accustomed  to  declare  that  he  experienced  far  better 
treatment  during  this  captivity  than  it  was  usual  for  prisoners  of 
war  to  receive  even  among  civilized  nations. 

When  the  French  war  began,  in  1754,  Stark,  who  had  already 
won  a  high  reputation  as  a  scout,  obtained  the  commission  of  Second 
Lieutenant  in  a  company  of  rangers.  It  is  not  our  purpose  to  follow 
him  in  detail  through  that  contest,  though  it  afforded  scope  for  many 
gallant  deeds,  and  was  the  school  in  which  the  leaders  of  the  Revo- 
lution were  very  generally  trained.  We  shall  merely  glance  at  the 
prominent  events  in  which  Stark  took  part.  The  first  campaign 
passed  without  any  transactions  of  importance.  In  the  succeeding 
year  he  was  in  the  desperate  fight  near  Fort  Edward,  in  which 
Baron  Dieskau,  the  Commander  of  the  French,  was  mortally  wound- 
ed. In  January,  1757,  Stark,  with  his  superior,  Major  Rogers,  and 
about  seventy  men,  was  sent  out  on  a  scouting  expedition  to  Lake 
Champlain,  with  orders,  if  possible,  to  cut  off  the  supplies  from 
Crown  Point  to  Ticonderoga.  The  party  captured  a  few  sleighs 
between  the  two  forts,  but  most  of  the  convoy  escaped,  and  the 
alarm  being  given,  a  detachment  from  the  garrison  of  Ticonderoga 
arrested  the  rangers  in  their  retreat.  A  stubborn  and  bloody  con- 
flict ensued.  Major  Rogers,  who  had  brought  on  them  the  ambush, 
by  refusing  Stark's  suggestion  to  return  to  Fort  Edward  by  a 
new  route,  being  twice  wounded,  was  about  to  surrender,  but  to  this 
his  more  heroic  Lieutenant  would  not  listen,  and,  by  maintaining 
the  fight  until  dusk,  Stark  managed  to  effect  his  escape.  Marching 
all  night  through  the  woods,  the  little  army  reached  Lake  George 
the  next  morning ;  but  here,  worn  out  by  cold,  fatigue,  and  loss  of 
blood,  they  gave  up  the  march  in  despair.  Stark  alone  maintained 
his  spirits,  and  bore  up  against  physical  depression.  Accoutring 
himself  with  snow  shoes,  he  started  for  Fort  Edward,  a  distance  of 
forty  miles,  and  arrived  there  the  same  evening,  an  almost  incredible 
feat  for  one  who  had  fought  for  most  of  the  preceding  day,  and 
marched  all  of  the  preceding  night.  Sleighs  were  hastily  despatched 
38 


298  THE    HEROES    OF    THE    REVOLUTION. 

for  the  sufferers,  who,  on  the  .ensuing  day,  arrived  in  safety.  For 
his  gallantry  on  this  occasion,  Stark  was  rewarded  with  the  rank  of 
Captain.  Not  long  after,  by  his  judicious  conduct  in  refusing  liquor 
to  his  troops  on  St.  Patrick's  day,  he  saved  Fort  Edward,  in  a  night 
attack  made  by  the  French  garrison  of  Fort  Ticonderoga.  His 
regiment,  during  this  campaign,  was  ordered  to  Halifax,  but  an 
attack  of  the  small  pox  prevented  him  accompanying  it. 

In  the  year  1758,  occurred  the  disgraceful  repulse  of  General 
Abercrombie  from  before  Fort  Ticonderoga.  The  expedition,  at 
first  successful,  appeared  to  be  attended  with  misfortunes  from  the 
hour  of  Lord  Howe's  death,  a  young  nobleman  of  great  promise,  and 
who  had  rendered  himself  peculiarly  dear  to  the  provincials.  He 
had  imbibed  a  friendship  for  Stark.  The  latter  supped  with  him 
the  night  before  his  death,  and  the  conversation  turned  chiefly  on 
the  expected  battle,  and  the  mode  of  attack.  It  was  the  duty  of  the 
rangers  to. precede  the  main  army,  and  drive  in  the  outlying  parties 
of  the  enemy  :  and  the  last  observations,  at  this  supper,  were  on  the 
order  given  to  Stark's  regiment,  to  carry  a  bridge  on  their  route 
early  the  next  morning.  The  bridge  was  found  strongly  defended 
by  Canadians  and  Indians,  but,  at  a  vigorous  charge,  the  enemy 
fled.  Lord  Howe,  marching  at  the  head  of  his  column,  came  across 
a  part  of  the  advanced  guard  of  the  foe,  which  had  lost  its  way  in 
the  forest,  and,  on  the  first  fire,  fell.  His  loss  was  so  much  regretted, 
that  the  General  Court  of  Massachusetts  appropriated  two  hundred 
and  fifty  pounds  to  erect  a  monument  for  him  in  Westminster  Abbey. 
Lord  Howe  was  the  elder  brother  of  Sir  William  Howe,  and  an 
illegitimate  cousin  to  the  King.  His  untimely  fate,  though  at  first 
deplored,  saved  him,  in  the  end,  from  taking  up  arms  against  his 
old  companions,  during  the  war  of  the  Revolution. 

After  this  event  the  army  moved  towards  Ticonderoga,  though 
with  such  criminal  delay,  that  the  enemy  had  time  to  entrench  them- 
selves behind  a  breast-work  of  trees,  which  the  English  found 
impregnable  to  assault,  though  they  stormed  them  several  times 
with  great  fury.  On  this  bloody  and  disastrous  day  there  fell  of  the 
British  army  six  hundred  killed,  while  nearly  fifteen  hundred  were 
wounded.  General  Abercrombie  now  retreated  to  the  south  end  of 
Lake  George.  At  the  close  of  the  campaign  Stark  went  home  on  a 
furlough,  and  was  married  to  Elizabeth  Page.  In  the  spring  he 
returned  to  the  army,  now  commanded  by  General  Amherst,  and 
was  present  at  the  capture  of  Ticonderoga  and  Crown  Point.  His 
military  services  in  the  royal  cause  may  be  said  to  have  terminated 
with  this  campaign.  With  other  provincial  officers,  he  had  become 


JOHN    STARK. 


299 


indignant  at  the  arrogance  exhibited  by  the  young  Englishmen  of 
the  same  rank  with  himself,  but  of  infinitely  less  experience.  He 
accordingly  resigned,  but  carried  with  him  the  esteem  of  General 
Amherst,  who  promised  him  that  he  should  resume  his  rank  in  the 
army  whenever  he  chose  to  rejoin  it.  If  the  war  had  continued, 


GENERAL   ABERCROMBIE'S   ARMT   CROSSING   LAKE    GEORGE. 


Stark  might  probably  have  again  engaged  in  military  life ;  but  after 
the  fall  of  Canada,  peace  was  soon  concluded. 

In  the  quiet  avocations  of  private  life,  Stark  employed  himself  until 
the  breaking  out  of  the  war  of  the  Revolution.  When  that  event  was 
rendered  inevitable,  overtures  were  made  to  him  by  the  royal  gov- 
ernment :  but  he  preferred  to  embark  in  behalf  of  the  cause  of  the 
colonies.  His  elder  brother,  William  Stark,  was  less  patriotic,  and 
was  rewarded  with  the  rank  of  Colonel  in  the  British  army.  On 
the  eve  of  his  departure,  the  latter  strove  to  persuade  his  brother 
John  to  follow  his  example  ;  but  the  appeal  was  in  vain :  and  the 
two  brothers,  who  had  drawn  sustenance  from  the  same  maternal 
breast,  parted,  never  to  meet  again  except  in  mortal  strife.  Stark 
remained  at  home  until  the  intelligence  of  the  battle  of  Lexington 
reached  him,  when,  flinging  himself  on  his  horse,  he  galloped  to 
head  quarters,  almost  without  drawing  rein.  He  was  immediately 
appointed  Colonel  of  one  of  the  three  regiments  raised  by  the  Pro- 
vincial Congress  of  New  Hampshire.  In  the  skirmish  at  Noddle's 


300  THE  HEROES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 

Island  he  took  an  active  part.  On  the  day  of  the  battle  of  Bunker 
Hill,  after  General  Ward  had,  at  last,  consented  to  reinforce  the 
troops  under  Prescott,  Stark  was  ordered  to  march,  with  the  New 
Hampshire  regiments,  to  the  scene  of  expected  strife,  which  he  did 
leisurely,  arriving  just  in  time  for  the  battle,  with  his  men  as  fresh 
and  eager  as  if  they  had  not  come  a  mile.  His  post  was  at  the 
rail-fence,  which  extended,  it  will  be  remembered,  from  the  road 
down  to  the  river  Mystic ;  and  the  fire  of  his  troops  was  so  deadly, 
that,  of  the  companies  opposed  to  him,  a  royal  officer  declared,  after 
the  battle,  some  had  but  eight  or  nine,  some  only  three  or  four  men 
left.  When  it  became  necessary  to  retreat,  he  drew  off  his  troops 
in  good  order.  During  the  siege  of  Boston,  he  remained  posted  with 
his  regiment  at  Winter  Hill,  and,  on  the  evacuation  of  the  city,  his 
were  among  the  New  England  troops  that  followed  Washington  to 
New  York. 

Stark  did  not,  however,  remain  to  participate  in  the  misfortunes 
of  Long  Island,  having  been  detached,  in  May,  to  join  the  American 
army  in  Canada.  He  served  with  distinction  through  the  northern 
campaign  of  that  year,  after  which  he  was  ordered  to  rejoin  Wash- 
ington, now  retreating  through  the  Jerseys.  He  arrived  at  the  camp 
of  the  Commander-in-chief  on  the  20th  of  December,  1776,  just  in 
time  to  participate  in  the  victory  at  Trenton,  when  he  led  the  van- 
guard of  the  right  wing,  under  Sullivan.  He  was  at  the  battle  of 
Assunpink  also,  as  well  as  at  that  of  Princeton,  remaining  with 
Washington  until  the  latter  had  established  himself  in  winter  quar- 
ters at  Morristown.  During  the  dark  crisis  that  witnessed  these 
battles,  Stark  had  been  of  essential  service,  by  inducing  the  New 
Hampshire  troops,  whose  terms  of  service  had  expired  on  the  1st  of 
January,  to  re-enlist  for  six  weeks ;  and  now,  when  the  campaign 
for  the  winter  was  over,  and  his  presence  could  be  spared,  he 
hastened  back  to  his  native  state  in  order  to  recruit  the  ranks  of  his 
regiment.  His  popularity  speedily  enabled  him  to  do  so  with 
entire  success ;  but  having  heard  of  the  promotion  of  some  junior 
officers  over  his  head,  he  threw  up  his  commission  in  disgust.  The 
feeling  was  a  natural  one,  and  can  scarcely  be  reprehended,  espe- 
cially as  he  did  not  allow  it  to  interfere  with  the  services  of  his  sons 
in  the  cause  of  freedom.  He  signified,  also,  his  intention  to  take  the 
field  if  any  emergency  should  arise  in  which  his  country  should 
demand  his  aid.  In  this  conduct  there  was  perhaps  nothing  of  the 
self-sacrificing  enthusiasm  of  the  true  heroic  character ;  but  neither 
was  there  anything  different  from  what  might  be  expected  of  even 
a  good  patriot,  with  the  ordinary  weaknesses  of  humanity.  It  is, 


JOHN    STARK. 


301 


perhaps,  difficult  to  decide  in  cases  like  that  of  Stark,  between  what 
is  due  to  persona,  dignity,  and  what  is  due  to  country. 


JOIIK   LANGDON. 


The  rapid  approach  of  Burgoyne,  however,  in  the  autumn  of  the 
same  year,  brought  Stark  again  into  the  field.  Alarmed  at  the  inroad 
of  the  enemy,  the  inhabitants  of  the  New  Hampshire  grants  declared 
to  the  New  Hampshire  Committee  of  Safety,  that,  unless  they  could 
receive  succor,  they  should  be  compelled  to  abandon  the  country 
and  seek  a  refuge  east  of  the  Connecticut  River.  This  intelligence 
aroused  the  public  spirit  of  New  Hampshire.  Measures  of  relief  to 
the  inhabitants  of  the  grants  were  immediately  adopted.  John 
Langdon,  a  merchant  of  Portsmouth,  took  the  lead  in  this  move- 
ment. Finding  some  members  of  the  Assembly  disposed  to  hesitate, 
because  the  public  credit  was  exhausted,  and  there  was  no  perceptible 
means  of  relieving  it,  he  addressed  the  house  in  these  memorable 
words:  "I  have  three  thousand  dollars  in  hard  money;  I  will 

AA 


302  THE  HEROES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 

pledge  my  plate  for  three  thousand  more ;  I  have  several  hogsheads 
of  Tobago  rum,  which  shall  be  sold  for  the  most  it  will  bring.  They 
are  at  the  service  of  the  state.  If  we  succeed  in  defending  our  fire- 
sides and  homes,  I  may  be  remunerated.  Our  old  friend  Stark,  who 
so  nobly  maintained  the  honor  of  our  state  at  Bunker  Hill,  may  be 
safely  entrusted  with  the  conduct  of  the  enterprise,  and  we  will  check 
the  progress  of  Burgoyne." 

At  these  noble  words  there  was  no  longer  any  despondency.  The 
patriotic  enthusiasm  of  Langdon  infused  itself  into  every  portion  of 
the  house :  the  militia  were  called  out  and  formed  into  two  brigades ; 
and  a  portion  of  them,  being  placed  under  the  command  of  Stark, 
were  ordered  to  stop  the  progress  of  the  enemy  on  the  western 
frontier.  Stark  accepted  this  command  on  condition  of  not  being 
obliged  to  join  the  main  army;  but  allowed  to  lie  on  the  skirts  of  the 
foe,  exercise  his  own  discretion  as  to  his  movements,  and  account 
to  none  but  the  authorities  of  New  Hampshire.  His  terms  being 
acceded  to,  he  marched  at  once  to  Manchester,  twenty  miles  to  the 
north  of  Bennington.  Here  he  was  met  by  General  Lincoln,  whom 
Schuyler,  then  in  command  of  the  northern  army,  had  sent  to  conduct 
the  militia  to  the  Hudson.  Stark,  however,  refused  to  go,  alleging 
his  discretionary  powers,  and  arguing  that  it  was  wiser  to  harass  the 
enemy's  rear  than  to  concentrate  the  whole  army  in  his  front.  On 
this,  Lincoln  applied  to  Congress,  who  passed  a  resolution  of  censure 
on  Stark's  conduct,  as  destructive  of  military  subordination ;  at  the 
same  time  they  directed  him  to  conform  to  the  rules  which  other 
general  officers  of  the  militia  were  subject  to  when  called  out  at  the 
expense  of  the  United  States. 

However  prejudicial  as  an  example,  Stark's  insubordination  might 
be,  his  determination  to  harass  the  enemy's  rear  was  wise,  as  events 
soon  proved.  Burgoyne  had  already  begun  to  feel  the  scarcity  of 
provisions.  Hoping  to  supply  himself  from  the  surrounding  country, 
he  determined  to  send  out  a  strong  foraging  party ;  and  for  this 
purpose  he  despatched  Colonel  Baum  with  six  hundred  men  in  the 
direction  of  Bennington.  Stark,  who  had  just  arrived  at  the  latter 
place,  hearing  of  the  advance  of  this  expedition,  immediately  sent 
out  Colonel  Gregg  to  check  it,  while  he  proceeded  to  rally  the 
neighboring  militia.  The  following  morning  he  moved  forward  to 
the  support  of  Gregg,  whom  he  met  retreating,  and  the  enemy  within 
a  mile  of  him.  Stark  halted  promptly  and  prepared  for  battle.  But 
the  enemy  instead  of  attacking  him,  began  to  entrench  himself 
in  a  highly  favorable  position,  while  an  express  was  hurried  off  to 
Burgoyne  for  reinforcements.  Stark,  at  first,  endeavored  to  draw 


JOHN    STARK. 

the  enemy  from  his  ground,  but  failing  in  this,  fell  back  about  a 
mile,  leaving  only  a  small  force  to  skirmish  with  the  foe.  This  was 
done  with  such  success  that  thirty  of  the  British,  with  two  Indian 
chiefs,  their  allies,  were  killed  or  wounded,  without  any  loss  on  the 
part  of  the  assailants ;  a  happy  augury  of  the  more  decisive  conflict 
yet  to  come. 

The  ensuing  day,  the  15th  of  August,  1777,  proved  rainy,  but 
amid  the  pelting  storm,  the  enemy  worked  laboriously  on  his  en- 
trenchments, more  and  more  intimidated  by  the  hostile  appearance 
of  the  inhabitants.  He  had  chosen  his  ground  with  admirable  skill. 
The  German. troops  were  posted  on  a  rising  ground  at  a  bend  of  the 
Wollamsac,  a  tributary  of  the  Hoosac,  and  on  its  northern  bank ; 
while  a  corps  of  lories  was  entrenched  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
stream,  and  nearly  in  front  of  the  German  battery.  The  river  wound 
backwards  and  forwards  several  times,  before  it  reached  Stark's 
camp,  but  was  fordable  in  all  places.  The  militia  under  Stark,  who 
beheld  the  enemy  entrenching  himself  more  strongly,  all  through 
the  15th,  began,  at  last,  to  grow  impatient,  particularly  a  detachment 
from  Berkshire  county,  headed  by  their  clergyman.  These  men,  to- 
wards daylight  of  the  1 6th,  waited  on  the  General  and  declared  that 
if  he  did  not  lead  them  to  fight,  they  would  never  turn  out  again. 
"  Do  you  wish  to  march  then,"  said  Stark,  "  while  it  is  dark  and 
rainy  ?"  "  No,"  replied  the  clergyman,  who  was  the  spokesman. 
"  Then,"  retorted  Stark, "  if  the  Lord  should  once  more  give  us  sun- 
shine, and  I  do  not  give  you  fighting  enough,  I  will  never  ask  you 
to  come  again." 

It  was  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  on  the  16th,  before  the 
weather  would  permit  the  attack  to  be  made.  The  plan  of  battle, 
proposed  by  Stark,  and  agreed  to  in  a  council  of  war  was  this.  Col. 
Nichols,  with  two  hundred  men,  was  to  assail  the  rear  of  the  ene- 
my's left ;  while  Colonel  Herrick,  with  three  hundred  men,  was  to 
fall  on  the  rear  of  their  right,  the  two  Colonels  to  form  a  junction 
before  beginning  the  assault.  In  order  to  divert  the  attention  of  the 
foe,  however,  Colonels  Hubbard  and  Stickney  were  deputed  to  ad- 
vance with  two  hundred  men  on  their  right  and  one  hundred  in 
front.  Stark  himself  moved  slowly  forward  in  front,  until  he  heard 
the  rattle  of  Nichols's  musketry,  when,  ordering  his  men  to  cheer, 
he  rushed  on  the  tories.  The  action  soon  became  general  on  all  sides. 
Neither  the  Germans  nor  the  loyalists  could  assist  one  another,  for 
each  had  work  enough  on  their  own  hands.  Attacked  in  front  and 
rear,  and  with  an  impetuosity  they  had  little  expected,  the  enemy 
scarcely  knew  what  to  do,  yet  still  fought  desperately  on.  In  a  few 


304 


THE  HEROES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 


minutes  the  struggle  had  become  a  general  melee.  The  entrench- 
ments blazed  with  fire  ;  the  shouts  of  the  combatants  rose  over  the 
roar  of  the  guns ;  and  the  colors  of  the  German  troops,  firmly  planted 
on  the  battery,  floated,  for  a  long  time,  unharmed.  The  smoke  of 
battle  gradually  grew  thicker  and  darker  around  the  scene.  The 
Indian  allies  of  the  enemy  had  fled  at  the  beginning  of  the  battle, 
disheartened  by  finding  themselves  assailed  in  their  rear;  but  the  reg- 
ulars dauntlessly  maintained  their  ground,  meeting  the  assaults  of  the 
Americans  with  the  push  of  the  bayonet,  and  girdling  their  little 
entrenchments  with  the  dead.  But  if  the  foe  fought  bravely,  the  as- 
sailants fought  not  less  so !  Hotter  and  hotter  waxed  the  fight  as  that 
summer  sun  began  to  decline.  The  roar  of  musketry ;  the  shouts  of 


BATTLE   OF   BENMNGTON. 


the  excited  combatants ;  the  groans  and  cries  of  the  dying,  rose  in 
terrible  discord.     It  seemed  as  if  the  elements  were  joining  in  the 


JOHN    STARK.  305 

commotion.  To  use  the  words  of  Stark  himself,  it  was  like  one 
continued  clap  of  thunder  !  At  last  the  tories  gave  way,  and  were 
forced  from  their  breast-work :  then,  after  a  desperate,  but  fruitless 
charge  of  their  cavalry,  totally  routed.  They  fled,  leaving  their 
artillery  and  baggage  to  the  victors. 

The  militia  now  dispersed  for  plunder,  when  suddenly  intelligence 
was  brought  to  Stark,  that  a  large  reinforcement  of  the  British  army 
was  advancing,  and  was  within  two  miles.  This  force  was  com- 
manded by  Colonel  Breyman,  and  had  been  sent  in  reply  to  Baum's 
express.  The  rain  of  the  last  two  days  had  delayed  its  march,  op- 
portunely for  the  Americans.  At  its  approach  the  fugitives  under 
Baum  rallied,  and,  as  most  of  Stark's  men  had  abandoned  him,  the 
victory  just  gained,  for  a  while  seemed  about  to  be  snatched  from 
his  grasp.  But  a  fresh  body  of  Americans,  arriving  from  Benning- 
ton  at  this  crisis,  saved  the  day.  Still,  the  battle  was  contested  until 
sunset,  when  the  enemy  took  to  flight,  leaving  Baum  mortally 
wounded  on  the  field.  The  spoils  of  victory  were  four  pieces  of 
brass  cannon,  a  quantity  of  German  swords,  several  hundred  stand 
of  arms,  eight  brass  drums,  and  about  seven  hundred  prisoners.  Two 
hundred  and  seven  of  the  enemy  were  found  dead  on  the  scene  of 
the  struggle ;  while  the  loss  of  the  Americans  was  but  thirty  killed 
and  forty  wounded.  The  battle  of  Bennington  affords  the  only 
instance  during  the  war,  in  which  a  body  of  militia  carried  en- 
trenchments manned  by  veteran  troops  and  defended  with  artillery. 
The  number  of  the  assailants,  it  is  true,  considerably  exceeded  those 
of  the  enemy.  The  victory,  notwithstanding,  was  one  of  the  most 
wonderful  of  the  war. 

Congress  on  hearing  the  results  of  the  battle,  overlooked  the  dis- 
respect of  Stark,  in  failing  to  notify  them  of  the  victory,  and  passed 
an  unanimous  vote  of  thanks  to  him  and  to  his  brave  troops ;  at  the 
same  time,  with  but  a  single  dissenting  voice,  they  raised  him  to  the 
rank  of  Brigadier-General  in  the  continental  army.  Nor1  was  the  reward 
disproportionate  to  his  services.  The  moral  effect  of  the  battle  of 
Bennington  was  even  greater  than  its  physical  results.  Burgoyne 
had  trusted  to  Baum's  expedition  to  obtain  a  supply  of  provisions, 
but,  in  consequence  of  the  defeat,  he  was  forced  to  wait  until  sup- 
plies could  be  sent  from  Ticonderoga.  This  delayed  his  progress 
and  afforded  time  for  the  Americans  to  prepare  the  net  in  which  they 
afterwards  enclosed  him.  The  Baroness  Riedesel,  wife  of  one  of 
Burgoyne's  Generals,  declares  that  the  defeat  of  Baum  "  paralyzed 
at  once  the  operations  of  the  British  army."  The  victory  at  Ben- 
nington, moreover,  raised  the  drooping  spirits  of  the  Americans. 
39  A  A* 


306  THE    HEROES    OF    THE    REVOLUTION. 

Washington  had  foreseen  that  this  would  be  the  result  of  any  advan- 
tage gained  over  the  enemy,  however  inconsiderable.  Writing  to 
Schuyler  as  early  as  the  17th  of  July,  and  when  so  many  were  de- 
sponding in  consequence  of  the  loss  of  Ticonderoga,  he  used  these 
remarkable  words  :  "  I  trust  General  Burgoyne's  army  will  meet, 
sooner  or  later,  an  effectual  check  ;  and,  as  I  suggested  before,  that 
the  success  he  has  had  will  precipitate  his  ruin.  From  your  accounts, 
he  appears  to  be  pursuing  that  line  of  conduct,  which,  of  all  others, 
is  most  favorable  to  us.  /  mean  acting  in  detachment.  This  con- 
duct will  certainly  give  room  for  enterprise  on  our  part,  and  expose 
his  parties  to  great  hazard.  Could  we  be  so  happy  as  to  cut  off  one 
of  them,  though  it  should  not  exceed  four,  five,  or  six  hundred  men, 
it  would  inspirit  the  people  and  do  away  much  of  their  present 
anxiety.  In  such  an  event  they  would  lose  sight  of  past  misfortunes, 
and  urged  at  the  same  time  by  a  regard  for  their  own  security,  they 
would  fly  to  arms  and  afford  every  aid  in  their  power."  Memora- 
ble and  prophetic  words  ! 

After  the  victory  of  Bennington,  Stark  proceeded  to  the  American 
camp,  where  Gates  had  been  now  promoted  to  the  chief  command. 
On  the  18th  of  September,  however,  the  term  of  Stark's  troops  ex- 
pired, and  notwithstanding  he  urged  them  to  re-enlist,  they  refused, 
and  began  their  return  march.  The  next  day  the  battle  of  Sara- 
toga occurred,  before  Stark,  with  his  militia,  had  proceeded  ten 
miles.  At  the  sound  of  the  firing,  some  of  the  soldiers  were  for  re- 
tracing their  steps,  but  the  reports  ceasing,  the  whole  body  continued 
its  homeward  journey.  Stark,  at  this  time,  had  not  yet  heard  of 
his  promotion,  but  the  intelligence  of  it  arrived  in  a  few  days.  He 
now  recruited  a  considerable  force  and  hastened  to  place  his  little 
army  in  Burgoyne's  rear,  contending  that,  if  the  militia  were  but 
true  to  themselves,  the  British  General  would  be  forced  to  surrender 
at  discretion.  Gates  thought  it  wiser,  however,  not  to  drive  his  ene- 
my to  despair ;  and  accordingly  consented  to  an  honorable  capitula- 
tion. 

The  campaign  being  over,  Stark  returned  to  his  native  state,  and 
occupied  himself  industriously  in  procuring  recruits  and  supplies  for 
the  succeeding  year.  A  short  time  after  he  reached  home,  Congress 
ordered  him  to  prepare  for  a  winter  expedition  against  Canada. 
This  was  the  celebrated  project,  conceived  by  the  Board  of  War, 
without  the  knowledge  or  advice  of  Washington,  and  intended  to 
detach  LaFayette  from  the  Commander-in-chief.  Stark  repaired  to 
Albany,  and  subsequently  visited  Vermont,  New  Hampshire,  and 
Massachusetts,  to  forward  preparations,  but  on  his  return,  early  in 


JOHN    STARK.  307 

the  succeeding  year,  1778,  he  was  assigned  the  command  of  the 
northern  department.  The  duties  he  was  now  called  on  to  perform 
he  always  spoke  of  as  the  most  unpleasant  of  his  life.  He  had  a 
large  frontier  to  protect  and  but  few  troops  to  do  it  with ;  while  he 
was  surrounded  by  a  sort  of  licensed  tories,  "  in  the  midst  of  spies, 
peculators  and  public  defaulters.  He  labored  to  reform  the  abuses 
in  the  department,  and  succeeded  like  most  reformers.  Those  who 
were  detected,  cursed  him,  and  their  friends  complained."  In  Octo- 
ber he  was  ordered  to  Rhode  Island,  a  command  which  he  obeyed 
with  alacrity.  Here  his  duty,  in  connexion  with  General  Gates, 
was  to  gain  information  of  the  plan  of  the  enemy  and  guard  against 
invasion.  During  the  winter,  he  returned,  for  a  short  period,  to  New 
Hampshire,  in  order  to  raise  recruits.  In  the  spring,  rejoining  his 
post,  he  was  deputed  by  General  Gates  to  examine  the  shores  of  Nar- 
ragansett  Bay  on  the  west  side,  from  Providence  to  Point  Judith,  and 
on  the  east  side,  from  Providence  to  Mount  Hope.  This  was  a  ser- 
vice requiring  the  utmost  vigilance,  and  a  system  of  constant  and 
perilous  espionage  on  the  enemy,  then  at  Newport.  Finally,  in  No- 
vember, the  British  left  that  town,  on  which  Stark  immediately  took 
possession. 

He  was  now  ordered  to  Washington's  head-quarters  in  New  Jer- 
sey ;  and  in  the  winter  again  returned  to  New  Hampshire  for  recruits 
and  supplies.  He  arrived  at  West  Point,  on  his  return,  a  few  days  be- 
fore the  treason  of  Arnold, and  passing  enjoined  his  division  at  Liberty 
Pole,  New  Jersey.  He  was  one  of  the  council  of  war  that  tried  and 
condemned  Andre.  During  the  autumn,  at  the  head  of  twenty-five 
hundred  men,  and  with  a  large  train  of  wagons  and  teams,  he  made 
a  descent  towards  York  Island,  pillaging  the  country  of  provisions 
to  the  very  verge  of  Morrisania  and  Kingsbridge  ;  the  British,  sus- 
pecting some  subtle  design  to  be  concealed  by  his  movements,  did 
not  interfere.  During  the  winter,  Stark  was  seized  with  an  illness 
which  forced  him  to  apply  for  leave  of  absence  ;  but,  in  the  spring 
of  1781,  his  health  being  recruited,  he  was  assigned  the  command  of 
the  northern  department  for  the  second  time.  Unpleasant  as  the 
task  was,  he  resolved  to  do  his  duty.  The  country  was  infested 
with  the  same  species  of  spies  and  traitors  who  had  annoyed  him 
in  1778 ;  and  also  by  brigands,  or  armed  bodies  of  refugees,  who 
plundered  at  will,  and  even  carried  off  the  inhabitants  into  Canada  as 
prisoners.  Shortly  after  Stark's  arrival,  one  of  these  parties  was  ar- 
rested within  his  lines.  The  leader  produced  a  commission  as  a  British 
Lieutenant,  but  as  he  had  been  a  refugee  from  that  section,  and  his 
practices  were  known,  Stark  summoned  a  board  of  officers  and  procured 


THE  HEROES  OP  THE  REVOLUTION. 

the  condemnation  of  the  man  as  a  spy.  The  sentence  was  sternly 
executed,  notwithstanding  the  excitement  it  created.  The  friends 
and  connexions  of  the  sufferer  in  Albany  even  applied  to  Washing- 
ton, complaining  that,  being  a  British  officer,  his  death  would  be 
made  the  subject  of  retaliation.  The  Commander-in-chief  demanded 
a  copy  of  the  proceedings  in  the  case,  which  was  sent,  but  here  the 
matter  dropped.  The  effect  of  Stark's  bold  conduct,  however,  was 
to  put  a  stop  to  brigandage.  From  this  period  to  the  close  of  the 
war  nothing  of  interest  in  his  life  remains  to  be  noticed.  When 
peace  had  been  concluded,  and  the  army  was  about  to  be  disbanded, 
he  exerted  his  influence,  in  opposition  to  the  celebrated  Newburgh 
letters,  to  allay  discontent  and  prevent  insubordination. 

Stark  now  retired  to  his  farm,  where  he  lived  in  quiet  and  plenty, 
until  the  8th  of  May,  1822,  when  he  terminated  his  days  at  the  ad- 
vanced age  of  ninety-four.  His  character  we  have  endeavored  to 
pourtray  faithfully  in  this  short  memoir.  He  was  a  man  of  strong 
talents  and  of  a  resolute  will,  though  of  little  mental  cultivation, 
and  a  hard,  unyielding  disposition.  His  manners  were  frank  and  open, 
but  eccentric.  He  was  kind  but  stern  in  his  social  relations,  and  firm, 
though  not  chivalric,  in  his  patriotism.  His  influence  over  the  mili- 
tia, arising  from  a  keen  insight  into  their  character,  was,  perhaps, 
superior  to  that  of  any  other  general  officer  in  the  Revolution.  It  is 
singular  that,  though  participating  in  so  many  battles,  he  was  never 
wounded. 

His  remains  are  deposited  on  a  rising  ground,  near  the  river  Mer- 
rimac,  visible  four  or  five  miles,  both  up  and  down  the  stream.  His 
family  has  erected  a  granite  obelisk  on  the  spot,  with  the  simple, 
but  all-sufficient  inscription,  "MAJOR-GENERAL,  STARK." 


HORATIO    GATES. 


nary 


HE  most  fortunate,  and  at  the 
same  time  unfortunate  of  the  Ge- 
nerals of  the  Revolution,  Horatio 
Gates,  was,  like  St.  Clair,  Lee 
and  Conway,  a  foreigner  by  birth. 
Gates  was  born  in  England,  in 
the  year  1728.  He  was  one  of 
those  individuals  whom  fortune, 
rather  than  ability,  makes  famous. 
With  little  original  talent,  but 
great  self-sufficiency;  more  of  the 
fine  soldier  than  the  true  General ; 
elegant  but  shallow ;  chivalrous 
in  manner  rather  than  in  fact; 
captious,  unjust,  stooping  to  low 
arts  to  rise  ;  yet  courteous,  digni- 
fied, honorable  according  to  ordi- 
standards ;  a  fair  tactician,  and  a  brave  man ;  a  soldier  who 

309 


310  THE    HEROES    OF    THE    REVOLUTION. 

bore  misfortune  better  than  success ;  his  character  presents  itself  to 
the  annalist  as  merely  that  of  a  common-place  commander,  without 
one  atom  of  the  hero  in  its  composition.  A  train  of  fortunate  cir- 
cumstances presented  victory  before  him,  and  though  he  had  the 
genius  to  secure  it,  he  had  none  beyond  that.  Had  he  been  more 
self-poised  he  might  have  proved  a  greater  man.  But,  unlike  Wash- 
ington and  Greene,  success  destroyed  his  equilibrium  of  mind,  and 
precipitated  him  into  acts  of  presumptuous  folly.  His  portrait,  as 
seen  on  the  Burgoyne  medal,  is  eminently  characteristic.  The  finely 
chiselled  profile,  and  graceful  flow  of  the  hair,  contrasted  with  the 
low  and  retreating  forehead,  conjure  up  vividly  before  the  mind  the 
idea  of  elegant  mediocrity  ! 

At  a  very  early  age,  Gates  entered  the  British  army  with  the 
commission  of  an  Ensign.  He  served  with  credit  in  this  subordinate 
capacity,  gradually  rising  by  honorable  promotion.  At  the  siege  of 
Martinico  he  acted  as  Aid-de-camp  to  the  British  General ;  and  sub- 
sequently, about  the  year  1748,  was  stationed  at  Halifax,  in  Nova 
Scotia.  When  the  French  war  broke  out  in  America,  he  came  to  this 
country  as  a  Captain  of  foot,  and  was  present  with  the  unfortunate 
Gen.  Braddock  at  the  battle  of  Monongahela.  In  this  action  he  re- 
ceived a  wound  which,  for  some  time,  unfitted  him  for  service.  At 
the  conclusion  of  peace,  in  1763,  he  settled  in  Virginia,  adopting  the 
life  of  a  planter,  and  rendering  himself  popular  by  his  elegant  man- 
ners, his  hospitality,  and  his  general  intelligence. 

When  the  difficulties  between  the  colonies  and  Great  Britain  be- 
gan to  assume  a  threatening  aspect,  Gates  embraced  the  side  of  his 
adopted  country  with  enthusiasm.  His  military  reputation,  like  that 
of  all  the  retired  officers  in  America,  who  had  served  in  the  royal 
army,  stood  very  high :  nor  was  this  to  be  wondered  at,  for,  with 
the  exception  of  a  few  individuals,  who,  like  Washington,  Putnam 
and  Stark,  had  held  commissions  in  the  provincial  regiments,  the 
ignorance  of  military  affairs  was  almost  universal.  It  will  be  found 
that  a  large  proportion  of  the  higher  posts  in  .the  continental  line,  at 
its  first  formation,  was  given  to  officers  bred  in  the  royal  army : — 
witness  Lee,  Montgomery,  Mercer  and  St.  Clair !  In  this  favored 
class  was  Gates,  who  received  the  appointment  of  Adjutant-General, 
with  the  rank  of  Brigadier.  He  immediately  joined  the  camp  at 
Cambridge.  His  appointment  was,  in  part,  the  result  of  Washing- 
ton's recommendations.  But  he  had  not  been  long  at  head-quarters, 
before  he  made  an  application  to  be  received  in  the  line,  and  being 
refused,  from  that  hour  he  became  secretly  hostile  to  the  Command- 
er-in-chief. With  much  that  was  noble  and  generous  in  his  compo- 


HORATIO    GATES.  311 

sition,  Gates  mingled  a  petty  jealousy,  the  consequence  of  excessive 
self-conceit,  which  marred  an  otherwise  chivalrous  character,  and 
was  the  cause  of  all  those  subsequent  errors  that  ruined  him  in  the 
eyes  of  his  cotemporaries,  and  disgraced  him  in  those  of  posterity. 

In  1777,  Gates  received  the  appointment  of  Commander-in-chief  on 
the  northern  frontier.  This  gift  he  obtained,  through  favoritism,  and  at 
the  expense  of  Schuyler;  for  even  at  this  early  period,  Gates  was 
the  idol  of  a  faction  secretly  averse  to  Washington.  The  elements 
of  this  faction,  as  revealed  by  subsequent  developments,  were  of  the 
most  opposite  and  unexpected  character.  On  the  one  side  the  pa- 
triotic Samuel  Adams,  misled  by  the  violence  of  his  local  feelings, 
disliked  the  appointment  of  Washington,  because  made  at  the  ex- 
pense of  Massachusetts ;  on  the  other,  General  Mifflin,  of  Pennsyl- 
vania, angry  at  the  refusal  of  the  Commander-in-chief  to  elevate  him 
and  his  friend  Gates  at  the  expense  of  others,  secretly  brooded  over 
revenge.  The  two,  exercising  their  influence,  both  in  and  out  of 
Congress,  already  raised  a  powerful  faction,  the  purposes  of  which, 
though  masked  from  the  public,  were  well  understood  among  them- 
selves. To  depreciate  Washington  and  his  friends,  while,  at  the 
same  time,  they  advanced  their  own  interests,  was  the  aim  of  this 
cabal.  Nor,  for  a  time,  did  they  despair  of  success.  They  seem  to 
have  hesitated,  at  first,  between  Lee  and  Gates  as  a  substitute  for 
the  Commander-in-chief,  but  finally,  when  the  former  was  made  pri- 
soner, to  have  united  on  the  latter.  As  yet,  however,  they  care- 
fully concealed  their  designs.  When  Schuyler  fell  under  censure 
in  the  winter  of  1777,  they  adroitly  procured  the  nomination  of 
Gates  to  his  place  ;  but,  when  Schuyler  was  proved  innocent,  they 
thought  it  most  prudent  to  consent  to  his  restoration,  as  they  found 
themselves  not  yet  strong  enough  to  prevent  it.  Hence,  on  the  fall 
of  Ticonderoga,  they  seized  the  occasion  to  misrepresent  Schuyler, 
and  by  covering  him  with  odium,  procure  from  Congress  the  exal- 
tatien  of  their  favorite.  Accordingly,  on  the  20th  of  August,  1777, 
Gates  arrived  at  the  camp  at  Stillwater,  and  received  the  command 
from  the  hands  of  his  misused  predecessor.  There  is  a  dignity  in 
Schuyler's  words  on  this  occasion  which  is  touchingly  eloquent. 
After  describing  the  measures  he  had  taken  to  embarrass  Burgoyne, 
and  foretelling  the  success  that  would  follow  them,  he  remarked, 
"  but  the  palm  of  victory  is  denied  me,  and  it  is  left  to  you,  General, 
to  reap  the  fruits  of  my  labors."  And  from  that  hour,  as  we  have 
seen,  he  continued  as  unremitting  in  his  exertions  as  if  he  was  the 
injurer  instead  of  the  injured. 

Gates  continued  at  Stillwater,  where  he  daily  received  reinforce- 


\ 

312  THE  HEROES  OP  THE  REVOLUTION. 

ments,  until  Burgoyne  had  crossed  the  Hudson,  on  the  '  4th  of  Sep- 
tember, when,  advancing  about  two  miles  in  front  of  *'  •  village,  he 
took  possession  of  Behmis  Heights,  a  range  of  hills  swe  >ing  inland 
from  the  river,  and  presenting  a  convex  front,  like  a  bent  I  >w,  towards 
the  enemy.  Here  he  threw  up  an  entrenched  camp,  expending  from 
a  defile  on  the  river  Hudson,  to  a  steep  height  on  the* -west,  about 
three  quarters  of  a  mile  distant.  The  main  fortificati  ns  were  at 
the  defile,  where  Gates  commanded  the  right  wing  in  person.  The 
Massachusetts  regiments  and  a  New  York  regiment  tnder  James 
Livingston,  occupied  the  centre,  which  was  a  plain,  co\  red  in  front, 
at  the  distance  of  a  quarter  of  a  mile,  by  a  wooded  ravine.  The  left, 
composed  of  Poor's  brigade,  of  Morgan's  riflemen,  and  of  a  few 
other  regiments,  was  posted  on  the  heights,  and,  together  with  the 
centre,  formed  a  division  under  the  command  of  General  Arnold. 
Thus  placed,  the  Americans  presented  a  barrier  to  Burgoyne,  which 
it  was  necessary  for  him  to  force  before  he  could  proceed.  But  con- 
fident of  the  valor  of  his  veteran  troops,  the  British  General  did  not 
hesitate.  On  the  morning  of  the  nineteenth  of  September  he  formed 
his  army  in  order  of  battle.  His  plan  was  worthy  of  his  genius. 
Himself  with  the  centre,  and  Frazer  with  the  right  wing  were  to 
make  a  circuitous  route  by  two  different  roads,  around  the  left  of  the 
Americans,  and  having  attained  this  point  to  concentrate  their  forces 
and  fall  headlong  on  the  astonished  enemy.  Generals  Philips  and 
Riedesel,  meantime,  were  to  advance  slowly  along  the  river  road, 
with  the  artillery,  and  within  half  a  mile  of  the  American  line,  they 
were  to  pause  and  await  two  signal  guns,  announcing  the  attack  on 
the  enemy's  rear.  After  this  they  were  to  precipitate  themselves  on 
the  defile  and  force  their  way  through. 

But  this  plan  of  attack,  so  clever  in  arrangement,  was  destined  to 
be  less  happy  in  its  execution.  The  keen  foresight  of  Arnold  detected 
the  manoeuvre  of  Burgoyne,  and  sending  to  Gates,  he  begged  for 
authority  to  assail  the  enemy's  right  in  anticipation.  That  he  might 
do  so  effectually  he  solicited  reinforcements.  But  Gates,  fearful  of 
an  attack  himself,  refused  to  weaken  his  wing,  though  he  gave  per- 
mission for  Arnold  to  send  out  Morgan  to  observe  the  enemy.  Ac- 
cordingly that  officer,  with  his  gallant  rifle  corps,  took  a  wide  circuit 
on  the  American  left,  and  soon  came  unexpectedly  on  the  centre  of 
the  British,  already  nearly  in  a  line  with  the  entrenchments,  and 
rapidly  approaching  Arnold's  rear.  A  sharp  skirmish  ensued.  At 
first  the  British  were  driven  back,  but  it  was  only  for  a  moment ; 
soon,  like  an  avalanche  they  burst  on  Morgan's  little  band,  crushing 
it  before  them.  Two  officers  and  twenty  privates  fell  into  the  hands 


HORATIO    GATES.  313 

of  the  enemf', a  disastrous  beginning  for  the  Americans.  But  Morgan 
himself  escHi'-g,  retreated  through  the  woods  with  the  remains  of  his 
corps,  and-l^ing  reinforced  by  Dearborn's  light  infantry,  returned 
bravely  to  t*fe  .conflict.  Soon  also,  the  regiments  of  Scammel  and 
Cilley,  composed  of  the  redoubtable  sons  of  New  Hampshire,  coming 
up,  formed  '  n  the  left  of  Morgan,  and  the  whole,  stimulating  each 
other  with  caeers,  poured  down  on  the  British  regiments.  Like  vete- 
ran troops  t'  ey  restrained  their  fire  until  close  upon  the  foe.  A  des- 
perate conflict  ensued.  Frazer,  who  had  arrived  with  the  right  wing 
to  succor  Bwgoyne,  hurled  his  dauntless  grenadiers  on  the  American 
line,  intending  to  penetrate  it :  and  so  terrible  was  the  onset  that  the 
troops  were  checked  in  full  career,  the  whole  front  trembling  under 
the  shock,  like  a  ship  struck  by  a  heavy  sea.  Opportunely  at  this 
moment,  Arnold  came  up  in  person  with  reinforcements,  and  in  turn 
dashed  furiously  on  the  foe,  cutting  his  way  between  the  centre  and 
right  wing,  and  thus  retaliating  the  manoeuvre  of  Frazer.  Here  had 
now  met,  for  the  first  time,  the  Hector  and  Achilles  of  the  respective 
armies  !  At  the  head  of  his  renowned  grenadiers,  who  never  yet  had 
been  defeated,  Frazer  advanced  to  the  charge,  proud  that  he  was 
about  to  encounter  a  foe  worthy  of  his  fame  ;  while  Arnold,  wav- 
ing his  sword  in  the  van  of  his  troops,  his  form  towering  conspicu- 
ous above  the  billowy  smoke,  rushed  eagerly  to  the  proffered  con- 
flict. The  shock  of  the  hostile  battalions  was  awful.  They  reeled, 
swaying  to  and  fro,  and  for  a  few  minutes  neither  gave  ground ! 
Sharp  and  incessant  vollies  of  musketry,  fiercer  than  the  most  expe- 
rienced veterans  had  ever  heard,  rattled  through  the  woods ;  while 
the  smoke  clung  around  the  trees  and  hid  the  combatants  from  sight. 
At  last  the  British  grenadiers  resorted  to  their  bayonets,  and  then  the 
Americans  sullenly  fell  back. 

The  course  of  the  battle  had  now  brought  the  contending  armies 
to  the  opposite  sides  of  an  oblong  clearing,  right  in  the  heart  of  the 
woods.  This  open  space  contained  about  fifteen  acres,  and  measured, 
perhaps,  sixty  rods  across  from  east  to  west.  The  field  sloped  gently 
down  towards  the  south  and  east.  On  its  north  was  a  thin  grove  of 
pines,  and  on  its  south  a  dense  wood  of  oaks.  At  the  upper  extrem- 
ity, sheltered  within  that  open  pine  grove,  were  ranged  the  British 
ranks,  their  long  line  of  splendid  uniforms  relieved  by  the  glittering 
steel  of  their  muskets,  setting  the  foliage  a-blaze  with  crimson.  The 
Americans  were  drawn  up  in  the  thick  forest  at  the  lower  end  of  the 
clearing,  with  Arnold  at  their  head.  For  awhile  the  two  parties 
stood  watching  each  other.  It  was  a  welcome  breathing  spell  for 
both.  The  battle  had  begun  at  noon,  and  it  was  now  three  in  the 
40  BB 


< 

314  THE    HEROES    OF    THE    REVOLUTION. 

afternoon,  so  that  the  men  were  much  fatigued,  especially  those  who 
had  bqen  among  the  first  to  engage.  Yet  the  deadly  animosity  of  the 
foes  was  not  lessened.  Neither  however,  seemed  eager  to  attack 
the  other  in  his  stronghold.  The  British  awaited  the  onset  of  the 
Americans — the  Americans  resolved  not  to  lose  the  advantage  of 
their  position.  Thus,  like  two  wary  wrestlers  about  to  engage  in 
the  ring,  each  party  stood  measuring  its  opponent's  thews. 

At  last  the  British,  with  a  shout,  rushed  from  their  covert,  and 
dashed  across  the  clearing  at  the  Americans.  The  latter  waited  until 
the  enemy  had  half  traversed  the  field,  when  they  threw  in  a  suc- 
cession of  close  and  withering  vollies.  The  British  staggered,  and 
then  again  advanced.  Another  volley  was  now  delivered  by  the 
Americans,  and  seeing  that  the  assailants  halted  in  confusion,  the 
soldiers  of  Arnold  sprang  from  their  coverts,  and  with  loud  shouts 
poured  down  on  the  foe.  The  British  fled.  The  Americans  pursued. 
With  wild  huzzas  they  drove  the  British  across  the  field  and  up  to 
the  very  edge  of  the  pine  wood.  But  here  received  by  a  fire  as  deadly 
as  their  own,  they  recoiled  in  turn.  Thus  fluctuating  forwards  and 
backwards,  charging  up  the  ascent  and  driving  in  confusion  down, 
the  Americans,  for  some  time,  gained  no  permanent  advantage.  As 
fast  as  either  side  left  its  covert,  the  vollies  of  the  other  side  checked 
it ;  as  fast  as  the  assailing  party  fell  back,  the  retreating  one  returned 
to  the  charge.  But  finally  the  British  centre  began  to  give  way.  At 
this  critical  moment,  however,  when  Arnold  almost  regarded  the 
day  as  won,  a  brigade  of  artillery  emerged  into  the  front  of  the  ene- 
my. General  Philips,  with  incredible  exertions,  had  made  his  way 
from  the  plain  below  through  the  intervening  woods,  and  the  British, 
elated  by  this  reinforcement,  again  rallied  and  drove  the  Americans 
a  third  time  across  the  clearing. 

The  contest  was  now  renewed  more  fiercely  than  ever.  The  one 
party  was  sanguine  of  success  at  last ;  the  other  was  stung  to 
phrenzy  by  seeing  victory  snatched  from  its  grasp.  The  Ameri- 
cans fled  to  their  covert,  but  here  paused,  and  pouring  in  two  or 
three  destructive  vollies,  drove  the  enemy  back.  At  this,  Arnold 
sprang  in  front,  and,  calling  on  his  troops  to  follow,  led  them,  fired 
with  rage  and  enthusiasm,  up  to  the  muzzles  of  the  British  cannon. 
In  vain  the  clearing  was  swept  by  incessant  discharges  of  musketry 
and  artillery ;  on  over  the  open  space,  on  through  the  groves  of 
pines,  on  to  the  very  guns  of  the  enemy  swept  the  Americans  !  The 
artillerists  fled  from  their  pieces  or  were  bayonetted  at  their  post. 
For  a  few  moments  the  Americans  were  again  victors.  Seizing 
the  ropes  they  attempted  to  drag  off  the  cannon  ;  but  the  exertion 


HORATIO    GATES.  315 

was  too  great.  And  now  the  British,  recovering  themselves,  returned 
to  the  charge,  and  the  refluent  wave  of  battle  again  rolled  over  the 
clearing,  and  lashed  the  front  of  the  forest  in  which  the  fugitives  took 
shelter.  Three  times  the  Americans  thus  dashed  at  the  enemy, 
drove  him  from  his  guns,  and  remained  for  a  space,  masters  of  the 
field ;  three  times  the  British,  returning  to  the  strife,  succeeded  in 
redeeming  their  pieces  and  beating  their  assailants  back.  The  car- 
nage was  meantime  appalling.  The  oldest  veterans  from  the  Ger- 
man wars  had  seen  nothing  like  it.  Thirty-six  of  the  forty-eight 
artillerists  had  fallen,  besides  every  one  of  their  officers,  excepting 
only  Lieutenant  Hammond.  The  clearing  was  covered  with  nearly 
a  thousand  fallen  and  slain.  Everywhere  around,  the  trees  were 
mangled  by  cannon  balls,  while  whole  limbs,  cut  off  by  the  shot, 
frequently  obstructed  the  path. 

The  sun  had  now  declined  towards  the  west.  His  almost  level 
beams,  breaking  through  a  gap  in  the  woods,  made  luminous  the 
sulphurous  canopy  that  eddied  to  and  fro  over  that  field  of  blood, 
with  every  fluctuation  of  the  battle.  As  his  setting  approached,  the 
strife  deepened.  The  British,  rallying  all  their  strength  for  a  last 
effort,  again  charged  across  the  clearing;  while  the  Americans, 
reinforced  by  a  fresh  regiment,  again  repulsed  them.  Twilight 
brought  no  cessation  to  the  struggle.  Still  the  tide  of  battle  surged 
to  and  fro  over  that  little  enclosure.  Still  the  explosions  of  artillery, 
like  successive  eruptions  of  a  volcano,  shook  the  solid  hills.  At  last 
darkness  fell  upon  the  scene.  One  by  one  the  different  corps  ceased 
fighting.  The  noise  of  firing  gradually  subsided,  continuing  last  on 
the  extreme  left  of  the  Americans,  where  Colonel  Jackson,  with  part 
of  the  Massachusetts  troops,  had  penetrated  almost  to  the  enemy's 
rear.  Finally  the  "smoke  began  to  lift  from  the  open  field,  and 
eddy  off,  though  long  after  the  stars  were  shining  calmly  down  into 
the  clearing,  the  vapors  still  clung  around  the  trees,  and  hung,  like 
a  white  shroud  over  the  piles  of  slain  at  the  edges  of  the  woods. 
As  the  evening  advanced  the  whip-poor-will  was  heard,  uttering  his 
plaintive  wail  unseen ;  and  the  British  soldiers,  to  whom  the  melan- 
choly note  was  unknown,  almost  fancied  it  some  sad  spirit  lamenting 
the  dead. 

The  British  occupied  the  ground  after  the  battle,  and  may,  there- 
fore, be  considered  the  victors.  Yet  their  triumph  was,  in  effect,  a 
defeat ;  for  Burgoyne  had  failed  in  his  original  design,  which  was 
to  force  the  American  position.  It  is  plain,  from  what  we  have 
narrated,  that  much  of  the  glory  of  the  day  belonged  to  Arnold. 
Gates  had  scarcely  issued  an  order.  In  fact,  if  the  earnest  messages 


316 


THE  HEROES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 


of  Arnold  had  been  attended  to,  and  suitable  reinforcements  sent 
him,  there  is  little  doubt  but  that  Burgoyne  would  have  been 
totally  defeated.  Gates,  however,  acted  with  prudence,  for  he  knew 
that  a  strong  force  was  in  his  front,  and  to  have  materially  weak- 
ened his  own  position,  would  probably  have  invited  an  assault.  He 
seems  to  have  felt,  after  the  victory,  that  to  Arnold  belonged  the 
real  glory  of  the  day ;  but,  instead  of  frankly  acknowledging  this,  he 
meanly  suppressed  that  General's  name  altogether  in  his  despatches. 
The  consequence  was  an  open  breach  between  the  two  officers,  who 
had  formerly  been  warm  friends.^  It  is  impossible  to  extenuate  the 
conduct  of  Gates.  It  evinced  all  that  jealousy  and  littleness  which 
is  the  true  test  of  conscious  inferiority.  Not  all  his  chivalrous 
behavior  to  the  unfortunate  Burgoyne  can  make  us  forget  the  mean- 
ness of  his  conduct  to  the  heroic  Arnold. 

The  two  armies  remained  watching  each  other  until  the  8th  of 
October.     On  that  day  Burgoyne,  at  the  head  of  fifteen  hundred 


SURRENDER  OF   BVRGOYNC. 


men,  executed  a  movement  on  the  American  left,  for  the  purpose  of 
covering  an  extensive  forage.  The  result  was  another  collision  be 
tween  the  two  armies.  On  this  occasion  also  Arnold  was  the  hero 


HORATIO    GATES.  317 

of  the  fight.  The  British  were  repulsed  with  terrible  slaughter  and 
the  loss  of  most  of  their  artillery.  Arnold,  following  them  up  in  their 
retreat,  stormed  them  in  the  entrenchments  to  which  they  had  fled, 
and  was  wounded  when  riding  triumphantly  into  a  sally  port.  In 
the  night  Burgoyne  retired  to  a  stronger  camp.  He  next  attempted 
to  return  to  Canada.  But  Gates  judiciously  enclosing  his  rear,  and 
his  provisions  failing,  he  capitulated  on  the  16th  of  October.  By 
this  surrender,  more  than  five  thousand  prisoners,  a  park  of  artillery, 
seven  thousand  muskets,  with  an  immense  quantity  of  tents  and 
military  stores  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  Americans.  Nothing  could 
exceed  the  delicacy  with  which  Burgoyne  was  treated  by  his  captor. 
Whatever  may  have  been  the  faults  of  Gates,  a  want  of  courtesy 
was  not  among  the  number;  and  his  graceful  attentions  almost  made 
the  English  General  forget  his  misfortunes.  Nor  must  we  be  under- 
stood as  denying  to  Gates  any  merit  in  the  capitulation  of  Saratoga. 
However  little  he  may  have  shared  personally  in  the  two  battles  of 
BehrmV  Heights,  the  skill  with  which  he  managed  his  army,  both 
before  and  after  those  contests,  deserves  high  praise.  In  short, 
though  not  a  great  General,  he  was  a  skilful  commander. 

The  conquest  of  Burgoyne  made  the  partizans  of  Gates  dizzy  with 
exultation.  Hitherto  the  career  of  Washington  had  been  attended 
principally  by  misfortune,  the  brilliant  affairs  of  Trenton  and  Prince- 
ton forming  the  only  exceptions.  He  had  just  lost  a  battle,  by  which 
the  capital  of  the  nation  fell  into  the  enemy's  hands  ;  and  though  his 
defeat  had  been  owing  to  circumstances  beyond  his  control,  many 
were  not  in  a  humor  to  make  allowances  for  this ;  and  the  most  un- 
favorable comparisons  were,  in  consequence,  drawn  by  such  persons, 
between  him  and  the  conqueror  of  Saratoga.  The  faction  which 
had,  from  the  first,  secretly  opposed  his  nomination  now  raised  its 
head  openly  and  prepared  to  strike.  It  is  impossible  to  believe  that 
Gates  himself  was  not  in  the  secret  of  this  cabal,  or  at  least  a  sym- 
pathizer in  its  views,  for  he  neglected  to  send  Washington  an  account 
of  his  victory,  but  contented  himself  with  reporting  to  Congress  as 
if  he  had  no  superior  officer.  His  neglect  to  do  Arnold  justice,  and 
his  insolence  to  the  Commander-in-chief,  place  his  character  before 
us,  we  confess,  in  a  more  unfavorable  light  than  it  is  generally  re- 
garded. And  how  was  his  conduct  to  Washington  retaliated  ? 
When  misfortune  visited  Gates,  and  a  fickle  Congress  was  ready  to 
sacrifice  him,  the  hero  stepped  in  to  save  the  victim,  and  not  only 
preserved  him  from  wrong,  but  soothed  his  injured  vanity  by  the 
gentlest  condolence. 

For  the  capture  of  Burgoyne,  Gates  was  rewarded  by  Congress 

BB* 


318 


THE  HEROES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 


with  a  gold  medal.     A  Board  of  War  was  also  constituted,  at  the 
head  of  which  he  was  placed,  with  powers  that  rendered  him  inde- 


MEDAL  PRESENTED  BY  CONGRESS  TO  GENERAL  GATE*. 


pendent  of  Washington.  This  Board  now  became  the  scene  of  the 
most  abominable  intrigues,  all  aimed  at  the  same  point,  the  removal 
of  Washington,  and  the  substitution  of  Gates  in  his  place.  It  is 
supposed  that  the  design  of  the  cabal,  which  is  known  in  history  as 
the  Conway  faction,  was  to  continue  to  annoy  the  Commander-in- 
cniel,  uhti^^^T^me  moment  of  spleen,  he  should  resign  his  post. 
One  of  the  measures  adopted  to  this  end,  was  an  expedition  against 
Canada,  which  the  Board  resolved  upon  without  consulting  Washing- 
ton. The  command  of  this  enterprise  was  to  be  given  to  LaFayette, 
in  hopes  to  detach  him  from  the  General-in-chief.  But  the  plotters 
soon  found  that  the  Marquis  was  not  to  be  turned  from  his  allegiance, 
and  in  consequence  the  Canadian  expedition  was  abandoned,  chiefly 
because  no  longer  useful  in  the  way  desired.  The  intrigues  of  the 
Conway  faction  were,  soon  after,  discovered  by  General  Cadwalader, 
who  indignantly  challenged  Conway,  and  in  the  duel  that  followed, 
gave  him  a  wound  which  .was,  at  first,  supposed  mortal.  In  the  near 
expectation  of  death,  Conway,  stung  by  remorse,  addressed  a  letter  to 
Washington,  in  which  he  acknowledged  his  crime,  begged  the  par- 
don of  that  august  personage,  and  declared  that,  in  his  eyes,  the 
Commander-in-chief  was  "  the  great  and  good  man."  Conway  sub- 
sequently recovered,  but  did  not  remain  in  America.  He  went  to 
France,  where  he  died.  The  cabal  coming  by  these  means  to  light, 


HORATIO    GATES.  319 

i 

such  was  the  indignation  of  the  people,  and  so  odious  did  its  very 
name  become,  that  its  members  strove  to  conceal  their  participation 
in  its  intrigues,  and,  in  a  great  measure,  succeeded.  The  conduct  of 
the  people  in  this  affair  is  a  high  testimony  to  their  virtue  and  gene- 
ral accuracy  of  judgment.  They  knew  that  Washington  was  the 
man,  above  all  others,  to  defend  their  liberties  ;  and  knew  it,  by  that 
instinct,  which  always  guides  the  mass  to  the  appreciation  of  the 
true  hero.  Defeat  and  misrepresentation  failed  utterly  to  lessen  their 
confidence  in  him,  notwithstanding  that  many  of  the  ablest  minds  in 
the  country  were  shaken  in  their  faith.  The  result,  in  the  end,  proved 
their  superior  discernment.  We  question  whether  the  mass  ever  mis- 
takes a  truly  great  man.  There  seems,  as  it  were,  an  electric  sym- 
pathy between  the  soul  of  the  true  hero  and  them,  which  reveals 
him  to  them  at  once  ! 

On  the  1 3th  of  June,  1 780,  after  the  news  of  the  fall  of  Charleston, 
Gates  was  called  to  the  command  of  the  southern  army.  This  choice 
was  made  without  consulting  Washington,  and  the  sagacious  mind  of 
that  leader  appears  to  have  immediately  foreboded  the  result.  Gates 
hastened  to  assume  his  new  post.  The  southern  army,  at  that  time, 
numbered  but  fifteen  hundred  men,  and  was  commanded  by  the 
Baron  de  Kalb.  It  was  near  Hillsborough,  in  North  Carolina,  when 
overtaken  by  Gates.  That  personage  reached  camp  in  the  highest 
spirits.  He  seemed,  in  the  eyes  of  unprejudiced  observers,  to  regard 
his  name  as  sufficient  alone  to  paralyze  the  foe.  He  began  his  new 
career  by  a  fatal  blunder.  The  country  in  which  he  was  to  operate 
was  one  especially  favorable  for  cavalry,  yet,  instead  of  assisting 
Colonels  Washington  and  White  in  recruiting  their  troops,  he  cava- 
lierly dismissed  both  those  officers,  and  set  out  on  his  march  with 
only  Armand's  corps.  On  the  footsteps  of  this  first,  he  committed 
another  capital  error.  Two  roads  lay  open  to  reach  the  foe ;  one, 
the  most  direct,  over  a  desolate  country ;  the  other,  more  circuitous, 
through  comparatively  fertile  districts ;  yet  he  chose  the  former.  If 
his  army  had  been  composed  solely  of  veterans,  long  inured  to  pri- 
vation, perhaps  the  shorter  road  would  have  been  the  best.  But  as 
all  the  accessions  to  his  force  were  of  raw  troops,  he  should  have 
taken  the  longer  and  more  easy  route,  both  that  he  might  have  time 
to  discipline  them,  and  that  they  might  be  kept  in  the  highest  possi- 
ble condition.  Gates  appears  to  have  fancied  that  it  was  only 
necessary  for  him  to  find  the  enemy.  Of  the  possibility  of  defeat  he 
never  thought.  It  had  been  made  a  subject  of  reproach  against  him 
by  captious  critics,  that  he  had  starved  out  Burgoyne,  when  it  would 
have  been  as  easy  to  have  conquered  him  outright ;  and  the  victor 


320  THE    HEROES    OF   THE    REVOLUTION. 

was  resolved  not  to  give  occasion  again  for  such  strictures.  He 
would,  like  Caesar,  write  "  veni,  vidi,  vici,"  and  then  the  measure 
of  his  glory  would  be  full ! 

The  Baron  de  Kalb  would  have  been  the  guardian  angel  of  the 
inflated  General,  if  the  self-sufficiency  of  the  one  could  have  paid 
even  ordinary  deference  to  the  grey  hairs  of  the  other.  The  Baron 
recommended  a  cautious  policy,  and  was  in  favor  of  the  more  cir- 
cuitous route.  The  result  verified  his  predictions.  The  troops 
were  nearly  famished  for  food ;  they  had  scarcely  any  bread,  or  even 
rneal ;  a  few  cattle,  caught  wild  in  the  woods,  afforded  the  chief 
sustenance.  Owing  to  the  unwholesome  swamps  they  traversed,  as 
well  as  to  the  want  of  proper  nourishment,  a  train  of  fatal  diseases 
followed  the  army,  destroying  many  of  the  men,  and  debilitating 
more.  At  last  Gates  reached  Clermont,  from  which  place  Lord 
Rawdon  withdrew  on  his  approach.  It  would  be  unjust  not  to 
allow  that  the  American  General  had  displayed  the  highest  energy 
in  the  prosecution  of  his  march.  He  had  indeed  proved  himself 
above  yielding  to  difficulties.  But,  at  the  same  time,  he  had  shame- 
fully neglected  all  precautionary  measures.  Though  joined  by  nume- 
rous bodies  of  militia,  whom  his  renown  brought  to  his  standard,  he 
made  scarcely  any  effort  to  train  them,  and  left  the  discipline  of  the 
camp  to  take  care  of  itself.  He  spared  neither  the  health  nor  the 
spirits  of  his  men.  In  short,  he  pressed  forward  as  if  he  had  but 
one  object  in  view,  to  catch  the  enemy,  if  possible,  before  he  could 
shut  himself  up  in  Charleston. 

Lord  Rawdon  had,  at  first,  retired  upon  Camden.  To  the  vicinity 
of  this  place  Gates  now  followed.  On  his  approach,  however, 
Rawdon,  instead  of  retreating  further,  advanced  to  Lynch's  Creek, 
about  fifteen  miles  in  front ;  and,  for  four  days,  the  armies  continued 
watching  each  other,  separated  only  by  this  slender  stream.  At  the 
end  of  this  period,  a  movement  of  Gates  against  the  enemy's  left, 
induced  Rawdon  to  retire  on  Camden  once  more.  Gates,  slowly 
advancing,  took  post  at  Rudgely's  mill,  which  the  enemy  had  just 
abandoned.  Here  he  was  joined  by  General  Stevens,  at  the  head 
of  seven  hundred  Virginia  militia  ;  and  from  this  point  he  detached 
four  hundred  regulars  to  reinforce  Sumpter,  a  fatal  error,  unless  he 
considered  Rawdon  sure  to  retreat  before  him.  If  he  had  been 
governed  by  the  same  sagacious  views  of  the  nature  of  the  contest 
as  Lord  Cornwallis,  he  would,  instead  of  weakening  his  army,  have 
waited  until  it  was  strengthened  by  further  reinforcements,  satisfied 
that  his  enemy,  and  not  himself,  would  lose  by  delay.  Cornwallis, 
who  had  meantime  arrived  at  Camden,  saw  this,  and  resolved  to 


HORATIO    GATES.  321 

seek  Gates,  in  order  to  give  him  instant  battle.  He  had  indeed  but 
two  thousand  men,  while  the  American  General  had  nearly  four ; 
but  the  latter  was  in  the  midst  of  his  resources,  while  the  former 
was  far  from  them.  Moreover,  the  British  army  was  composed 
chiefly  of  regulars,  that  of  Gates  mostly  of  militia.  Accordingly,  on 
the  16th  of  August,  the  British  General  marched  out  from  Camden. 
Gates,  still  confident  of  success,  had  left  Rudgely's  mills  the  same 
day,  on  his  way  to  Saunder's  Creek,  seven  miles  from  Camden. 
The  two  armies,  to  their  mutual  surprise,  met  about  one  o'clock  at 
night.  Each  took  some  prisoners  and  learned  the  motives  of  the 
other;  when,  by  mutual  consent,  they  drew  off  and  awaited  the 
dawn.  At  daybreak  the  battle  began.  The  story  of  that  melan- 
choly day  we  have  already  told  at  sufficient  length.  Gates,  on  the 
eve  of  the  contest,  appears  to  have  hesitated  for  the  first  time.  He 
called  a  council  of  his  officers,  and  desired  to  know  what  was  best 
to  be  done.  For  some  time  no  one  spoke,  but  finally  General 
Stevens  remarked,  "  that  it  was  now  too  late  to  retreat."  This  was 
all  that  was  said.  The  silence  continuing,  Gates  broke  up  the  unsat- 
isfactory council  with  the  words,  "  then  we  must  fight — gentlemen, 
please  to  take  your  posts." 

After  a  vain  attempt  to  redeem  his  errors,  by  rallying  the  fugitive 
militia,  the  defeated  commander  gave  the  reins  to  his  horse  and 
galloped  from  the  fatal  field.  He  has  been  censured  for  not  remain- 
ing to  share  death  with  the  brave  de  Kalb.  But,  when  Gates  left 
the  scene  of  disaster,  he  believed  the  rout  final,  the  thick  fog  com- 
pletely concealing  from  his  sight  the  Maryland  and  Delaware 
regiments.  r_Aceompanied  only  by  a  few  friends,  the  prostrate  con- 
queror fled  to  Charlotte,  eighty  miles  distant,  without  dismounting. 
Soon  after  he"  continued  his  flight  to  Salisbury,  and  subsequently  to 
Hillsborough.  He  left,  however,  Smallwood  and  Gist  at  the  former 
place  to  collect  the  dispersed  continentals  who  had  survived  the 
fight ;  for  little  hope  existed  of  rallying  the  militia,  that  species  of 
force  always  making  the  best  of  their  way  home  after  a  disaster. 
At  Hillsborough,  a  hundred  and  eighty  miles  from  the  scene  of  battle, 
he  felt  himself  in  comparative  safety.  Here,  with  a  resolution  that 
sheds  a  momentary  gleam  across  his  darkening  fortunes,  he  began 
immediately  to  collect  reinforcements,  expressing  his  determination 
not  to  abandon  the  contest,  but  return  and  face  the  foe.  He  had 
partially  succeeded  in  restoring  confidence,  when,  on  the  5th  of 
October,  he  was  removed  from  his  command,  and  an  inquiry  ordered 
into  his  conduct.  Congress  now  called  on  Washington  to  nominate 
his  successor.  The  Commander-in-chief  promptly  replied  by  select- 
41 


322  THE    HEROES    OF    THE    KEVOLTTTION. 

ing  General  Greene.  The  new  commander  as  promptly  began  his 
journey,  and  arrived  in  the  camp  of  Gates  on  the  2nd  of  December, 
where  he  was  received  by  the  fallen  General  with  a  dignity  and 
fortitude  which  extorts  admiration.  Greene,  on  his  part,  with  deli- 
cate forbearance,  paid  his  predecessor  the  compliment  of  continuing 
his  orders  of  the  day. 

The  reverse  of  Gates  is  one  of  those  mysterious  events  which  affect 
the  mind  with  a  profound  sense  of  retributive  justice.  Great  as  had 
been  the  folly  that  produced  the  rout  of  Camden,  his  worst  enemies 
could  see  nothing  of  criminality  in  his  conduct.  His  actions  had 
been  the  result  of  a  mind  made  dizzy  by  success;  but  no  worse  accu- 
sation could  be  brought  against  him.  Yet,  as  in  his  prosperity  he 
had  been  unjust  to  others,  so,  in  adversity  there  were  many  unjust 
to  him.  The  wrongs  of  Arnold  were  now  being  fearfully  avenged. 
As  he  travelled  north,  on  his  way  to  his  residence  in  Virginia,  no- 
thing but  scowling,  or  at  best  gloomy  faces  welcomed  him.  The 
odium  of  his  defeat  had  gone  before  him,  and  rendered  even  his  best 
friends  cold.  His  reception  deeply  affected  his  spirits.  He  who  had 
once  been  so  cordial  in  his  manners,  was  now  grave  and  reserved. 
Notwithstanding  his  assumption  of  fortitude  in  public,  in  private,  it 
is  said,  he  keenly  felt  his  degradation.  At  last  he  reached  Richmond. 
Here  the  first  word  of  condolence  he  had  received,  greeted  his  wel- 
come ears.  The  Assembly  was  then  in  session,  and  a  committee 
was  appointed  to  assure  the  desponding  General  of  "  their  high  re- 
gard and  esteem,  and  that  their  remembrance  of  his  former  glorious 
services  was  never  to  be  obliterated  by  any  reverse  of  fortune." 
Washington  also,  though  so  much  injured  by  Gates,  extended  his 
sympathy  to  the  unhappy  fugitive,  arid  sought,  with  disinterested 
kindness,  to  assuage  the  sharp  pang  of  misfortune,  by  compassion- 
ately deferring  assembling  the  court  of  inquiry. 

Thus  closed  the  military  career  of  Horatio  Gates.  In  depicting 
it  we  have  sought  to  be  governed  by  exact  justice.  He  was,  in  our 
opinion,  neither  a  very  good  nor  a  very  bad  man ;  neither  an  able 
General,  nor  one  wholly  the  reverse.  His  character  suggests  no  idea 
so  forcibly  as  that  of  elegant  mediocrity.  After  the  termination  of' 
the  war  he  resided  in  Virginia  until  1789,  when  he  manumitted  his 
slaves  and  removed  to  New  York.  He  took  little  part  in  public  af- 
fairs, (face,  and  once  only,  he  emerged  from  his  retirement.  This 
was  in  1800,  when  he  served  a  single  term  in  the  Legislature.  He 
died  on  the  10th  of  April,  1806,  leaving  no  posterity. 


SHIPPEX  S   HOUSE    WHERE   GEXEKAL  ARNOLD   WAS   MARRIED. 


BENEDICT    ARNOLD. 


ENEDICT  Arnold  was  the 
solitary  traitor  of  the  Revo- 
lution. Yet  it  has  been  the 
fashion  of  late  to  extenuate 
his  treason.  It  is  argued 
that  he  had  great  tempta- 
tions; that  his  passions  were 
violent ;  that  he  was  wrong- 
ed by  Congress,  in  rank, 
fortune,  and  good  name. 
But  they  know  little  of  hu- 
man nature  who  suppose 
criminals  are  such  from 
mere  wantonness  only. — 
Guilt  always  has  a  cause. 

^rT^-^     The     difference     between 
__<^ 

'  wickedness  and  honesty  is 
not  that  one  is  tempted,  and 
'he  other  goes  free,  but  that  one  yields  while  the  other  resists.  There 
was  more  than  one  officer  in  the  army  who  suffered  as  great  indig- 

323 


324  THE    HEROES    OF    THE    REVOLUTION. 

nities  as  Arnold,  yet  he  alone  sought  revenge  in  betraying  his  coun- 
try. His  moral  obliquity  was  the  cause  of  his  fall.  He,  whose 
romantic  courage  and  intrepidity  in  the  early  years  of  the  war,  had 
lifted  his  name  on  a  pinnacle  of  glory,  suffered  himself  at  last,  in  the 
gratification  of  an  unholy  hatred,  to  be  hurried  into  acts  which  pre- 
cipitated him  from  his  lofty  elevation,  and  buried  him  forever  in  the 
gulf  of  the  traitor.  We  never  recall  the  name  of  Arnold,  without 
thinking  of  that  Lucifer,  who,  like  him,  found  ruin  in  his  impetuous 
ambition. 

•'  So  call  him  now — His  former  name 
Is  heard  no  more  in  heaven." 

The  character  of  Arnold  is  no  riddle,  as  many  suppose.  On  the 
contrary,  it  is  of  a  very  ordinary  kind,  though  not  always  found  in 
such  exaggeration.  It  united  great  force  with  even  greater  depravity. 
But  the  heart  of  man  is  his  balance-wheel,  and  if  it  be  wrong,  the 
whole  machine  runs  wild.  Arnold  had  no  controlling  moral  princi- 
ples. As  boy  and  man  he  would  have  his  way,  reckless  of  the  means, 
so  that  he  succeeded.  Impetuous,  daring,  energetic,  with  a  will  that 
carried  everything  before  it,  yet  wholly  destitute  of  principle  or  honor, 
he  was  like  some  terrible  wild  beast,  let  loose  to  work  his  pleasure 
in  a  crowd,  without  chain  or  keeper.  If  nothing  opposed  him,  all 
went  well :  but  if  his  path  was  crossed,  hell  itself  was  roused  to  his 
aid.  There  was  something  colossal  in  the  energy  with  which  he 
pursued  an  object,  something  awful  in  his  fierceness:  like  the  fabled 
mammoth,  when  he  advanced  he  crushed  everything  mercilessly 
down.  His  almost  delirious  fury  on  the  battle-field  of  Saratoga  is 
an  illustration  of  this.  Raging  across  the  plain,  the  foe  scattering 
wherever  he  appeared,  what  was  he  even  then  but  the  same  pas- 
sionate and  headlong  man  who,  when  afterwards  opposed  by  Con- 
gress, rushed,  in  a  phrenzy  of  hatred,  to  avenge  himself  by  bartering 
his  country.  Arnold  was  consistent  throughout  his  whole  career. 
In  his  boyish  pastimes,  a  heedless  bully ;  in  his  commercial  days,  a 
reckless  speculator  ;  was  it  to  be.  wondered  at  if,  in  the  higher  walks 
of  after  life,  he  played  out  his  p"art  ?  From  first  to  last  he  acted 
without  moral  restraint.  From  first  to  last  he  had  a  will  to  convulse 
empires.  The  heroism  of  Arnold  was  that  of  vast  physical  courage, 
set  in  motion  and  hurried  forward  by  a  fiery  soul.  His  treason,  on 
the  contrary,  was  only  a  new  phase  of  that  moral  obliquity  which 
had  attended  him  through  life.  If  Arnold's  guilt  is  to  be  extenuated, 
it  would  be  a  mockery  to  punish  crime  ! 

Benedict  Arnold  was  bom  at  Norwich,  Connecticut,  on  the  3rd 


BENEDICT    ARNOLD.  325 

of  January,  1 740.  As  a  boy  he  was  characterized  by  cruelty,  bad 
temper,  and  an  indifference  to  the  opinions  of  others.  He  would 
maim  young  birds  in  sight  of  the  parents,  in  order  to  be  amused  by 
the  cries  of  the  latter.  He  scattered  broken  pieces  of  glass  near  the 
school  house  door  that  the  children  might  cut  their  feet.  Conduct 
like  this  evinced  a  greater  degree  of  innate  brutality  than  belongs  to 
boys  ordinarily.  As  he  grew  up  he  betrayed  dispositions,  in  other 
respects,  painful  to  his  friends.  He  ran  away  and  enlisted  in  the 
army,  but  being  placed  on  garrison  duty,  he  found  its  restraints  too 
great,  arid  deserted.  At  the  age*  of  manhood  he  began  business  as 
a  druggist  in  New  Haven.  The  energy  which  had  always  charac- 
terized him,  being,  for  a  while,  confined  in  a  legitimate  channel,  his 
profits  increased  ;  and  finally  he  added  the  pursuit  of  a  general  mer- 
chant to  his  earlier  avocation.  He  began  to  trade  with  the  West 
Indies,  and  commanded  his  own  vessels.  Diverging  into  speculation, 
he  finished  with  insolvency.  In  addition  to  this,  his  irascible,  impetu- 
ous and  unprincipled  disposition  continually  plunged  him  into  quar- 
rels, in  one  of  which,  while  in  the  West  Indies,  he  fought  a  duel 
with  a  Frenchman.  Numerous  anecdotes  are  preserved  of  this 
period  of  his  life,  but  they  all  resolve  themselves  into  two  classes, 
and  either  exemplify  his  energy  and  daring,  or  else  betray  his  obli- 
quity of  moral  purpose. 

In  1775,  after  the  battle  of  Lexington,  Arnold  marched  at  the 
head  of  sixty  men  from  New  Haven  to  Cambridge.  Before  setting 
out,  he  called  on  the  selectmen  for  ammunition,  but  they  refused  the 
keys  of  the  magazine,  on  which  Arnold,  with  characteristic  daring, 
answered  that,  if  the  keys  were  not  surrendered,  he  would  break 
open  the  doors.  When  he  arrived  at  head-quarters  he  proposed  to 
the  Massachusetts  Committee  of  Safety  the  capture  of  Fort  Ticon- 
deroga,  and  that  body  adopting  his  plan,  and  furnishing  him  with  a 
Colonel's  commission,  he  hastened  forward  to  his  destination.  His 
intention  had  been  to  raise  recruits  in  the  western  part  of  the  state, 
but  on  arriving  there  he  heard  of  the  similar  project  of  the  committee 
of  the  Connecticut  Legislature,  and  instantly  pressed  forward  to 
Castleton,  where  the  New  Hampshire  volunteers  were,  in  order  to 
assert  his  superior  right  to  the  command.  The  friends  of  Ethan 
Allen,  however,  would  not  serve  under  Arnold,  and  in  the  end  the 
latter  consented  to  waive  his  claims,  and  act  as  a  volunteer.  He 
entered  the  gate  of  the  fort,  in  the  assault,  side  by  side  with  Allen. 
Subsequently  he  captured  a  royal  sloop  and  some  galleys.  His  con- 
duct throughout  was  marked  by  energy,  intrepidity  and  military 
forecast;  but  also  by  arrogance,  impetuosity,  and  an  arbitrary 

cc 


326  THE  HEROES  OP  THE  REVOLUTION. 

demeanor.  Even  at  this  early  period,  the  seeds  of  his  subsequent 
disgrace  were  sown.  Immediately  after  the  capture  of  Ticonderoga 
he  produced  his  commission,  and  claimed  the  command  of  the  fort ; 
but  as  the  followers  of  Allen,  as  well  as  the  Connecticut  Committee 
still  refused  his  claims,  he  withdrew  sullenly  to  Crown  Point,  where 
he  assumed  supreme  control.  His  presumption  was  represented  in 
exaggerated  terms  to  the  Massachusetts  authorities,  who  despatched 
a  committee  of  inquiry  to  examine  his  conduct.  The  indignation  of 
Arnold  blazed  up  at  such  a  procedure,  and  he  angrily  resigned  his 
commission.  His  services  had  been  of  value,  and,  perhaps,  were  not 
justly  rewarded ;  but  if  he  had  possessed  less  selfish  ambition,  he 
would  have  been  less  enraged.  The  war  of  independence  was  not 
one  in  which  mere  personal  ends  ought  to  have  been  sought.  Its 
true  heroes  were  all  self-denying  men. 

In  the  ensuing  autumn  Arnold  offered  to  lead  an  expedition  across 
the  wilderness  of  Maine,  in  order  to  penetrate  into  Canada  from  an 
unexpected  quarter,  and  try  the  effect  of  a  surprise  on  Quebec.  The 
route  was  one  of  incredible  difficulty,  and  had  never  been  travelled 
except  by  small  parties.  But  its  very  dangers  recommended  it  to 
Arnold  :  he  burned  to  do  something  beyond  ordinary  daring :  and, 
having  received  the  concurrence  of  Washington,  he  began  his  march, 
on  the  16th  of  September,  with  about  a  thousand  men.  For  six 
weeks  the  expedition  toiled  on  amid  perils  and  privations  that  would 
have  disheartened  common  leaders.  Over  rugged  mountains,  through 
inhospitable  forests,  and  down  rivers  foaming  with  terrific  cataracts 
the  little  army  pursued  its  way,  the  men  often  being  compelled  to 
carry  their  boats  for  miles  from  portage  to  portage,  and  sometimes 
passing  days  in  succession  drenched  to  the  skin  by  rain.  On  one 
occasion  several  of  the  batteaux  were  upset,  a  large  stock  of  provi- 
sions lost,  and  the  crews  nearly  drowned.  In  consequence  of  this 
accident  food  became  scarce.  The  troops  continually  lost  themselves, 
moreover,  in  the  labyrinthine  woods.  Exhausted  with  incessant 
labor,  and  weak  for  want  of  necessary  nourishment,  many  of  the 
men  became  sick,  and  were  unable  to  proceed  further.  The  unfor- 
tunate sufferers,  in  such  cases,  were  left  in  rude  huts,  composed  of 
the  branches  of  trees,  with  a  companion  to  tend  them,  while  the  rest 
pressed  forward ;  for  to  have  lingered  would  have  ensured  death  by 
starvation.  Day  after  day  elapsed,  yet  the  settlements  did  not 
appear.  The  sun  rose,  after  nights  of  hunger  and  fever,  on  another 
day  of  toil  and  privation ;  and  as  he  mounted  to  the  zenith,  the 
travellers  clambered  up  the  lofty  trees,  and  strove  to  catch  a  sight 
of  some  friendly  smoke  in  that  vast  wilderness.  But  noon  came, 


BENEDICT    ARNOLD.  327 

and  night  succeeded ;  and  still  there  was  no  hope.  Another  day  rose 
and  departed ;  still  no  signs  of  succor !  The  men  dropped  along 
the  route,  but,  remembering  that  to  despair  was  to  perish,  rose  and 
struggled  on  as  they  best  could.  Soon  the  travellers  were  scattered 
over  a  distance  of  thirty  miles.  Despair  was  fast  gathering  around 
every  heart.  In  this  awful  emergency  Arnold  showed  all  the  qual- 
ities of  a  great  leader,  by  sharing  the  privations  of  the  lowest,  by 
assisting  to  draw  the  batteaux,  by  hurrying  to  and  fro  to  cheer  the 
men  along  that  extended  line.  At  last,  flinging  himself  into  a  light 
canoe,  he  embarked  on  the  angry  waters  of  the  Chaudiere,  and,  in 
three  days,  after  being  in  continual  peril  amid  its  boiling  and  foam- 
ing current,  arrived  at  Sertigan,  the  first  French  settlement  in  Canada. 
His  appearance  filled  the  simple  inhabitants  with  awe.  They 
regarded  him  and  his  companions  almost  as  some  superior  beings, 
having  ever  considered  the  wilderness  impassable  unless  for  soli- 
tary hunters.  Tradition  still  preserves,  in  the  secluded  vallies  of 
that  district,  the  memory  of  that  audacious  enterprise,  and  old  men, 
with  grey  heads  shaking  as  they  rehearse  it,  tell  the  miraculous 
story  of  the  "  descent  of  the  Bostonians." 

Arnold  now  despatched  succors  to  the  rear,  and  booths  were 
erected  with  refreshments,  so  that  the  famished  members  of  the  ex- 
pedition, as  they  came  in,  might  find  instant  relief.  He  then  pro- 
ceeded down  the  river  to  conciliate  the  inhabitants.  Success  crowned 
his  efforts.  Too  recently  conquered  to  have  become  reconciled  to 
their  yoke,  the  French  inhabitants  of  Canada  welcomed  the  Ameri- 
cans as  deliverers ;  while  the  Americans  on  their  part,  obeying  the 
instructions  of  Washington,  paid  the  highest  respect  to  the  prejudices 
of  the  Canadians  and  liberally  paid  for  supplies.  Having  recruited 
his  men  by  a  short  delay,  Arnold  pushed  on  toward  Quebec,  hoping 
to  take  that  city  by  surprise.  But  a  messenger  whom  he  had 
despatched  in  advance  to  some  friends  in  the  town,  having  proved 
a  traitor  and  delivered  the  letters  to  the  Governor,  the  garrison  was 
found  in  a  state  of  preparation.  Arnold,  however,  climbed  the 
heights  of  Abraham  and  drawing  up  his  troops  on  the  plain,  gave 
three  cheers,  not  in  idle  bravado  as  some  have  supposed,  but  in 
hopes  to  draw  the  English  from  their  entrenchments.  The  command- 
er, however,  was  too  prudent  to  endanger  the  loss  of  the  place,  and 
obstinately  remained  within  his  walls.  Arnold  now  retired  to  Point 
aux  Trembles,  twenty  miles  above  Quebec,  where  he  was  soon 
joined  by  Montgomery ;  and  the  two,  uniting  their  forces,  moved 
down  again  to  renew  the  attempt.  The  story  of  that  desperate, 
but  gallant  assault,  need  not  be  repeated  here.  It  is  sufficient 


328 


THE  HEROES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 


to  say  that  Montgomery  fell  and  Arnold  was  wounded,  while  the 
attack  was  repulsed  with  little  loss  to  the  besieged.     The  block- 


MONTKKAU 


ade  of  Quebec,  however,  was  continued  until  May,  1776.  During 
a  portion  of  this  period  Arnold  was  Governor  of  Montreal,  whither 
he  retired  in  sullen  disgust  at  the  coldness  of  General  Wooster,  who 
had  arrived  from  the  states  and  superseded  him  in  the  command. 
Gradually  the  Americans  were  compelled  to  relinquish  one  post  after 
another  in  Canada,  until  on  the  18th  of  June,  the  army  permanently 
abandoned  that  country.  In  the  retreat,  Arnold  led  the  rear,  and 
like  Ney  in  Russia,  was  the  last  man  to  retire.  The  story  of  his 
conduct  on  this  occasion  is  as  picturesque  as  any  in  romance.  When 
the  army  was  about  to  sail  for  Crown  Point,  Arnold  remained  be- 
hind to  superintend  the  embarkation.  At  last  every  boat  had  left 
except  his  own ;  he  then  mounted  his  horse  and  attended  only  by  a 
single  Aid-de-camp,  rode  back  two  miles,  until  the  advancing  legions 
of  the  enemy  were  distinctly  visible.  Drawing  in  his  rein,  he  gazed 
at  them  for  a  short  time,  and,  when  his  curiosity  was  satisfied,  has- 
tened back  to  St.  Johns.  The  boat  was  in  waiting,  and  the  men 
anxious  to  be  gone ;  for  already  the  evening  gun  of  the  enemy 
echoed  among  the  neighboring  hills.  The  horses  were  stripped  and 
shot,  and  Arnold,  pushing  off  the  boat  with  his  own  hands,  leaped 
on  board ;  the  men  sprang  to  their  oars,  and  the  light  craft,  skim- 


BENEDICT    ARNOLD.  329 

ming  rapidly  away,  was  soon  lost  in  the  gathering  obscurity  of  the 
night. 

On  the  news  of  Arnold's  gallant  behavior  at  Quebec,  Congress  had 
appointed  him  a  Brigadier.     This  new  rank  opened  to  his  ambitions 
soul  a  wider  career  of  glory ;  but  the  higher  he  soared,  the  loftier 
grew  his  aspirations,  arid  the  prouder  his  daring  !  On  the  retreat  of  the 
army  to  Ticonderoga,  he  was  appointed  to  command  a  small  fleet  on 
Lake  Champlain,  destined   to   harass,  and,  if  possible,  baffle   the 
approach  of  the  British,  who,  in  numerous  galleys,  were  preparing 
to  advance  down  the  lake.     A  better  choice  of  a  leader  for  this  little 
navy,  could  not  have  been  made.     Arnold's  voyages  to  the  West 
Indies  had  given  him  a  sufficient  knowledge  of  maritine  affairs  to 
answer  his  present  purpose,  and  besides,  the  smallness  of  the  vessels 
would  render  the  combats  rather  like  the  hand  to  hand  conflicts  of 
knightly  times  than  the  sea-fights  of  modern  warfare.     Perhaps, 
no  man  ever  lived  more  fitted  to  distinguish  himself  in  such  melees 
than  Benedict  Arnold.     It  was  not  long  before  he  heard  of  the  pre- 
sence of  an  English  fleet  in  the  lake,  and  sallying  out  boldly,  although 
he  knew  the  enemy  to  be  superior,  he  soon  became  engaged  in  a 
desperate  strife.     His  own  force  consisted  of  three  schooners,  two 
sloops,  three  galleys  and  eight  gondolas ;  the  enemy  had  one  three- 
masted  vessel,  two  schooners,  a  radeau,  one  gondola,  and  twenty 
gun-boats.     For  some  hours  the  battle  raged  furiously  notwithstand- 
ing the  vast  disproportion  of  numbers,  for  the  wind  not  allowing  all 
the  vessels  on  either  side  to  be  engaged,  the  Americans  had  even 
a  smaller  relative  force  in  battle  than  that  enumerated  above.     Dur- 
ing the  action  Arnold  was  the  chief  stay  of  his  little  fleet.  He  pointed 
almost  every  gun  that  was  fired  from  his  galley,  and  stimulated  his 
crew  by  a  constant  exposure  of  his  person.     Both  his  own  vessel 
and  that  of  his  second  in  command  were  terribly  shattered.     The 
number  of  killed  and  wounded  was  enormous,  considering  the  small 
force  engaged.     Every  officer  on  board  of  one  of  the  gondolas,  ex- 
cept the  captain,  was  killed,  and  another  gondola  sank  soon  after  the 
conflict. 

Night  now  fell  around  the  scene  of  strife,  and  the  smoke  which 
had  lain  packed  upon  the  water,  gradually  eddied  off  and  thinned 
imperceptibly  away.  But  no  stars  were  in  the  cloudy  sky.  This 
was,  however,  a  fortunate  circumstance  for  Arnold,  as  it  enabled  him 
to  put  in  execution  a  design  which  the  ruined  condition  of  his  fleet 
and  the  disparity  of  his  forces  rendered  inevitable.  This  was  to  re- 
turn to  Crown  Point.  But  as  the  enemy  had  anchored  their  vessels 
in  a  line  from  shore  to  shore  in  order  to  prevent  his  retreat,  the 
42  cc* 


330  THE  HEROES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 

manoeuvre  would,  perhaps,  have  been  impossible  but  for  the  favor- 
ing obscurity  of  the  night.  A  breeze  from  the  north  springing  up, 
the  crippled  navy  got  under  weigh.  Arnold,  as  usual,  brought  up 
the  rear.  Not  a  sound  was  heard  except  the  ripple  of  the  water 
under  the  galley's  stern,  and  the  sough  of  the  wind  among  the  pine 
trees  on  the  shore,as  this  gallant  craft, bringing  up  the  line,stood  boldly 
on  between  the  two  principal  vessels  of  the  foe.  Even  the  tread  of 
the  sentry  on  board  the  British  ships  could  be  distinguished.  At  last 
the  gauntlet  was  safely  run,  and  spreading  all  sail,  the  fleet  sped 
swiftly  up  the  lake.  But  when  it  had  proceeded  about  twelve  miles 
it  was  forced  to  come  to  anchor  in  order  to  stop  leaks,  and  before  it 
was  ready  to  advance  again,  the  wind  died  away  and  then  came  out 
baffling  from  the  south.  The  ships  could  not  all  sail  alike,  and  some 
necessarily  fell  behind.  By  the  second  morning  after  the  battle,  the 
pursuing  enemy  overtook  the  rear  of  the  fugitives.  A  fresh  conflict 
ensued.  The  force  of  the  British  was  so  overpowering  that  soon 
the  galley  of  Arnold  was  the  only  one  that  had  not  surrendered.  For 
four  hours,  a  ship  of  eighteen  guns,  a  schooner  of  fourteen,  and 
another  of  twelve,  poured  a  concentric  fire  on  his  solitary  craft;  and 
for  four  hours  Arnold  returned  the  unequal  cannonade,  the  crater,  as 
it  were,  of  a  blazing  volcano.  At  last  his  vessel,  reduced  almost  to 
a  wreck,  was  surrounded  by  seven  hostile  sail.  In  this  situation, 
Arnold  ran  his  galley  with  the  four  gondolas  ashore  in  a  small  stream 
near  the  scene  of  conflict,  and  setting  fire  to  them,  ordered  the  ma- 
rines to  leap  out,  wade  to  land  and  line  the  bank  in  order  to  keep 
off  the  enemy.  The  order  was  faithfully  executed.  Arnold  remained 
alone  on  board  until  sure  that  the  flames  could  not  be  extinguished, 
then,  leaving  the  flags  flying  in  defiance,  he  sprang  into  the  water 
and  marched  sword  in  hand  to  shore. 

This  series  of  brilliant  deeds  gave  Arnold  an  unequalled  popula- 
rity with  the  people.  His  name  was  on  every  tongue.  The  distant 
vallies  of  Pennsylvania  as  well  as  the  villages  of  his  native  New 
England,  rung  with  plaudits ;  and  a  hundred  anecdotes  were  passed 
from  tongue  to  tongue,  of  his  sufferings  in  the  wilderness,  of  his 
dauntlessness  at  Quebec,  of  his  dazzling  heroism  on  Lake  Champlain. 
Men  said  that  what  others  dared  to  propose  he  dared  to  execute  t 
that  there  was  nothing  he  would  not  attempt,  and  few  things  he 
could  not  achieve.  Where  the  strife  raged  fiercest,  there,  they  de- 
clared, his  sword  flamed  highest,  as  of  old  the  white  plume  of  Henry 
of  Navarre  danced  on  the  surge  of  battle.  Arnold  knew  that  this 
was  his  reputation ;  but  he  knew  also  that  many  envied  him.  There 
were  numerous  olficers  in  the  army  who  were  as  selfish  as  himself 


BENEDICT    ARNOLD.  331 

but  had  none  of  his  impetuous  bravery ;  and  these,  with  their  friends 
in  and  out  of  Congress,  waited  only  an  opportunity  to  injure  him. 
It  was  not  long  wanting.  Even  before  the  naval  battle  of  Lake 
Champlain,  a  complaint  had  been  made  against  Arnold  in  reference 
to  some  goods  which  he  had  carried  off  from  Montreal  in  his  official 
capacity,  and  though,  perhaps,  there  was  nothing  criminal  in  his 
conduct,  it  was  sufficiently  irregular  to  afford  a  handle  for  his  ene- 
mies. Unfortunately  neither  Arnold's  former  character  as  a  mer- 
chant, nor  his  present  reputation  in  monied  transactions  were  of  a 
kind  to  discountenance  such  a  charge,  but  rather  tended  to  confirm 
it.  In  addition  to  this,  his  haughty  and  arrogant  demeanor  had  ren- 
dered  him  disagreeable  to  his  military  associates ;  and  these  latter, 
by  their  letters  to  members  of  Congress,  spread  the  same  dislike  to 
Arnold  abroad  which  existed  in  the  camp.  The  consequence  was 
that,  when  a  new  list  of  Major-Generals  was  made  out,  Arnold  was 
neglected  and  younger  officers  appointed  in  his  stead.  A  case  is 
half  lost  already  when  the  prejudices  of  the  public  are  enlisted 
against  either  party.  Arnold  was  in  this  unfortunate  situation.  Nor 
was  he  a  man  who,  when  he  found  the  current  setting  against  him, 
would  endeavor  to  conciliate  his  enemies  or  the  public  ;  but  on  the 
contrary,  carrying  his  impetuosity  in  battle  into  private  life,  he  strove 
to  force  his  antagonists  into  submission.  This  was  the  course  he  now 
adopted.  At  once  he  called  in  the  public  as  his  arbiters,  and  complain- 
ed to  them  of  his  services  and  his  neglect.  This  defiant  conduct,  as 
might  have  been  expected,  only  increased  the  virulence  of  his  ene- 
mies. He  lost  his  temper  too,  in  all  such  controversies ;  and  the 
more  he  was  wronged,  the  angrier  he  recriminated.  Instead  of  wait- 
'ing  prudently  until  the  sense  of  the  people  should  compel  his  enemies 
to  do  him  justice,  he  stormed  against  Congress  with  a  violence 
amounting  almost  to  insanity,  and  which  disgusted  even  his  friends. 
Instead  of  imitating  the  example  of  Schuyler,who,  when  superseded 
in  the  moment  of  victory,  stifled  his  resentment  and  patriotically 
assisted  Gates,  Arnold,  when  overlooked  in  the  promotions,  dinned 
into  the  ears  of  the  nation  his  selfish  complaints,  and  exposed  his 
wounds  ostentatiously  to  the  public  gaze,  like  a  ragged  mendicant 
on  the  highway. 

Washington  was  the  only  man  that  could  control  this  haughty  and 
imprudent  spirit.  He  understood  perfectly  the  fiery  impetuosity  of 
Arnold,  and  if  he  misjudged  him  at  all  it  was  in  charitably  estimat- 
ing his  moral  character  too  favorably.  He  gave  wise  counsel  to  the 
irritated  General  in  this  emergency — counsel  which,  if  always  fol- 
lowed by  Arnold,  would  have  saved  his  name  from  future  infamy, 


332  THE  HEROES  OP  THE  REVOLUTION. 

And,  for  a  while,  Arnold  listened  to  Washington,  and  obeyed  his 
belter  angel.  The  Commander-in-chief  now  took  up  his  part,  and 
wrote  to  Congress  in  relation  to  the  affair ;  and  Arnold  himself,  about 
this  time  having  gallantly  repulsed  a  predatory  incursion  of  the  Bri- 
tish in  Connecticut,  that  body,  at  last,  listened  to  his  claims  and  ele- 
vated him  to  the  rank  of  Major-General.  He  was  not,  however, 
placed  above  the  juniors  of  whose  promotion  he  had  been  complain- 
ing, and  the  guerdon  accordingly,  as  it  fell  short  of  his  wishes,  was 
received  with  angry  reproaches.  Indeed,  to  a  nature  like  Arnold's, 
this  half  reluctant  and  incomplete  justice  was  a  source  of  constant  irri- 
tation :  it  worked  like  a  thorn  in  his  soul,  continually  festering,  and 
from  that  day  to  the  hour  of  his  suicidal  ruin,  it  kept  him  in  a  state  of 
morbid  excitement,  which  first  hurried  him  on,  a  madman,  to  Beh- 
mis'  Heights,  and  afterwards  precipitated  him,  a  traitor,  into  infamy 
and  ruin.  Yet  we  do  not  urge  these  things  as  a  defence  of  his  con- 
duct. Had  not  a  mere  selfish  ambition  actuated  him,  he  would  never 
had  betrayed  his  country  for  robbing  him  of  rank.  We  only  ana- 
lyze his  character. 

Another  difficulty,  meantime,  arose  between  him  and  Congress. 
By  the  peculiarity  of  his  situation,  during  the  two  last  campaigns, 
lie  had  been  compelled  to  act  not  only  in  the  capacity  of  commander, 
but  of  Commissary  and  Paymaster  also.  He  now  presented  his  ac- 
counts for  settlement,  and  claimed  a  large  balance  in  his  favor.  As 
it  was  known  that  he  entered  the  service  poor,  men  asked  how  he 
came  to  accumulate  such  a  sum.  On  examining  his  statement  it  was 
found  to  contain  several  extravagant  charges  in  his  own  behalf, 
some  of  them  of  a  dubious  character,  and  others  clearly  unreasona- 
ble. The  authorities  naturally  hesitated  to  settle  such  accounts. 
His  ejiemies  in  Congress  openly  charged  him  with  endeavoring  to 
swindle  the  public,  nor  could  his  friends  consistently  defend  conduct 
so  evidently  wrong.  At  last,  finding  the  committee  not  disposed  to 
make  a  report  in  his  favor,  and  discovering  that  the  friends  of  the 
other  Major-Generals  were  too  strong  for  him  to  attain  the  rank  he 
desired,  in  a  fit  of  impetuous  anger  he  sent  in  his  resignation,  declar- 
ing that  he  was  driven  to  do  this  by  a  sense  of  the  injustice  he  had 
suffered,  and  averring  that  "  honor  was  a  sacrifice  no  man  ought  to 
make."  But  he  had  scarcely  despatched  the  document  when  intel- 
ligence of  the  fall  of  Ticonderoga  was  received,  and  immediately 
after  Washington  wrote  to  Congress,  recommending  that  Arnold 
should  be  sent  to  the  northern  army.  "He  is  active,  judicious 
and  brave,"  said  the  Commander-in-chief,  "and  an  officer  in  whom 
the  militia  will  repose  great  confidence."  The  offer  of  the  appoint- 


BENEDICT    ARNOLD.  333 

ment  conciliated  Arnold.  He  declared  that  he  would  go  at  once  to 
Schuyler's  army  and  trust  to  the  justice  of  Congress  for  his  reparation. 

He  reached  the  northern  army  a  few  days  before  the  evacuation  of 
Fort  Edward,  and  while  there  heard  that  Congress  had  finally  dis- 
allowed his  claim  to  be  advanced  over  the  other  Major-Generals. 
He  again  determined  to  resign,  but  was  prevented  by  the  coun- 
sels of  Schuyler.  When  the  army  fell  back  to  Stillwater,  intelligence 
arrived  of  the  sanguinary  battle  of  Oriskany,  in  which  General  Her- 
kimer  had  lost  his  life  ;  and  Arnold  promptly  volunteered  to  lead  an 
expedition  to  the  relief  of  Fort  Leger,  now  blockaded  by  the  victo- 
rious foe.  A  stratagem  played  off  by  Arnold  led  the  enemy  to  sup- 
pose that  his  force  was  far  greater  than  it  was;  and  the  British,  with- 
out waiting  for  a  conflict  retreated  in  confusion.  After  an  absence 
of  twenty  days  Arnold  returned  to  camp.  He  found  the  army, 
under  the  command  of  Gates,  had  retreated  and  taken  post  just 
above  the  confluence  of  the  Mohawk  and  Hudson ;  but  a  few  days 
after,  the  enemy  still  occupying  Saratoga,  the  Americans  retraced 
their  steps  and  occupied  Behmis'  Heights.  A  week  subsequently  the 
battle  of  Stillwater  was  fought.  This  action  lasted  from  noon  until 
night  and  was  contested  chiefly  by  Arnold's  division. 

Directly  after  the  battle,  Gates  withdrew  a  part  of  Arnold's  divi- 
sion, without  the  latter 's  knowledge.  At  this  Arnold  was  extremely 
indignant,  as  it  placed  him  in  the  light,  he  said,  of  presuming  to  give 
orders  which  were  contravened  by  the  general  orders  of  the  Com- 
mander-in-chief. In  his  despatches  respecting  the  battle  of  Stillwater, 
Gates  had  overlooked  Arnold's  division  altogether,  merely  stating 
that  the  struggle  was  carried  on  by  detachments  from  the  army.  At 
this,  too,  Arnold  was  justly  indignant.  "  Had  my  division  behaved 
ill,"  he  said,  "  the  other  division  of  the  army  would  have  thought  it 
extremely  hard  to  have  been  amenable  for  their  conduct."  An  angry 
altercation  ensued  between  the  two  Generals.  Gates  insinuated  that, 
on  Lincoln's  arrival,  he  should  take  away  Arnold's  division  from 
him.  Arnold  demanded  a  pass  for  himself  and  suite  to  join  Wash- 
ington. Gates  haughtily  complied  with  the  request.  But  Arnold,  on 
reconsideration,  thinking  he  would  hazard  his  reputation  by  a  depar- 
ture on  the  eve  of  battle,  remained,  though  stripped  of  his  command, 
without  any  employment  in  camp,  arid  in  open  hostility  with  the  Ge- 
neral-in-chief.  The  censure  of  this  affair  must  be  equally  divided 
between  Gates  and  Arnold.  The  former  was  arrogant  and  tyranni- 
cal ;  the  latter  insolent  and  presuming.  The  one  was  jealous  of  the 
glory  won  by  his  subordinates ;  the  other  not  unwilling  to  supplant 
his  superior  in  renown. 


334  THE  HEROES  OP  THE  REVOLUTION. 

The  quarrel  remained  in  this  condition  when  the  second  battle  of 
Behmis'  Heights  occurred,  on  the  7th  of  October,  1777.  The  action 
was  begun  by  a  detachment,  fifteen  hundred  strong,  headed  by 
Burgoyne  in  person,  directed  against  the  left  of  the  American  posi- 
tion. Gates  instantly  determined  to  cut  this  force  off  from  the  main 
body,  and  accordingly  hurled  his  masses  against  its  left ;  while  a 
strong  body  of  troops  was  despatched  to  get  into  its  rear.  An  attack 
was  also  made  on  the  British  right,  so  that  the  conflict  now  became 
general  along  the  whole  line.  As  Arnold  had  no  command,  he 
remained  chafing  in  his  own  tent,  but  when  the  roar  of  battle  in- 
creased, unable  to  endure  the  inaction  longer,  he  rushed  out,  and 
mounting  a  borrowed  charger,  rode,  for  some  time  in  excitement 
around  the  crimp,  and  then  galloped  to  the  field  without  orders.  The 
animal  he  rode  was  a  beautiful  Spanish  mare,  celebrated  for  her 
fleetness  of  foot,  and  all  eyes  in  the  camp  were  soon  turned  on  the 
spirited  steed  and  its  rider  as  they  scoured  the  distance  between  the 
lines  and  the  army.  The  instant  Gates  recognized  Arnold,  he  turned 
angrily  to  Major  Armstrong  and  commanded  him  to  bring  the  fugi- 
tive General  back.  But  Arnold,  divining  his  message,  would  not 
allow  Armstrong  to  overtake  him.  Dashing  into  the  hottest  of  the 
fight  whenever  his  pursuer  approached,  he  lost  himself  amid  the 
smoke,  until  at  last  the  latter  abandoned  the  erratic  chase  in  despair. 
Arnold  now  had  the  field  before  him.  He  was  without  orders,  the  officer 
of  highest  rank  in  the  action.  Plunging  hither  and  thither  through 
the  apparently  involved  strife,  issuing  directions  for  which  his  former 
renown  as  well  as  his  rank  ensured  obedience,  he  became  from  that 
moment  the  master  spirit  of  the  fight.  The  most  wonderful  accounts 
are  handed  down,  by  tradition,  of  his  intrepidity.  The  prodigies  of 
valor  he  performed  surpass  the  boundaries  of  romance.  A  reckless- 
ness allied  to  phrenzy  seemed  to  have  possessed  him,  and  he  hurled 
himself  continually  on  the  solid  masses  of  the  foe,  scattering  terror 
and  confusion  wherever  he  came. 

His  example  was  contagious.  Storming  over  the  field  like  a 
whirlwind,  he  swept  his  men  with  him  wherever  he  went,  here  rend- 
ing and  splitting  the  ranks  of  the  enemy,  there  dashing  them  head- 
long before  his  track.  It  is  said,  by  some,  that  he  was  intoxicated, 
by  others  that  he  acted  under  the  influence  of  opium.  But  it  was 
not  so.  Passions  wrought  to  their  highest  pitch  by  his  late  quarrel, 
ambition  fearing  a  fall,  rage  seeking  an  outlet,  revenge  burning  for 
distinction,  all  these  feelings,  flaming  in  his  bosom  at  once,  fired  him 
to  a  madness  that  surpassed  that  of  any  physical  excitement,  and 


BENEDICT    ARNOLD. 


335 


the  tempest  of  the  elements.  In  this  phrenzy  he  did  acts  of  which 
afterwards  he  had  no  recollection.  An  officer  hesitating  to  obey  his 
orders,  he  struck  the  man  over  the  head  with  his  sword ;  yet,  the 
next  day  Arnold  had  forgotten  it.  On  one  occasion,  having  to  cross 


ARNOLD   AT    BKHMls'    HEIGHTS. 


the  field,  he  wheeled  his  steed  in  front  of  his  own  men,  and  dashed 
down  the  whole  length  of  the  line,  opposed  to  both  fires.  Gallop- 
ing to  arid  fro,  his  voice  rising  above  the  shattering  noise  of  battle, 
he  stimulated  to  great  deeds  wherever  he  came.  As  the  British, 
finding  their  retreat  about  to  be  cut  oft',  began  to  retire,  Arnold  came 
up  at  the  head  of  three  regiments,  and  fell,  like  a  thunderbolt,  on 
their  line.  Recoiling  before  this  fierce  onset,  the  enemy  strove  no 
longer  to  keep  his  ground,  but  only  to  reach  his  camp  before  the 
pursuing  Americans ;  while  Arnold  cheering  his  men  by  words  and 
by  the  most  heroic  exposure  of  his  person,  raged  furiously  in  his  rear. 


o3f)  THE  HEROES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 

At  last  Burgoyue  gained  his  entrenchments ;  but  even  here  he  was 
not  safe  !  Arnold  came  foaming  on,  and  soon  reaching  the  foot  of 
the  lines,  lashed  them  incessantly.  Night  gradually  fell,  yet  still  the 
assault  continued.  In  vain  the  British  swept  his  ranks  with  mus- 
ketry and  grape ;  in  vain  a  thousand  bayonets  bristled  above  the 
works ;  still  waving  his  sword  at  the  head  of  his  troops,  and  excit- 
ing them  with  enthusiastic  appeals,  he  led  them  up  to  the  very  mouth 
of  the  artillery,  drove  back  the  appalled  defenders,  and  was  entering 
the  sally-port,  when  a  grape  shot  shattered  his  leg,  and  killing  his 
horse  under  him,  he  fell  helpless  to  the  ground. 

But  he  had  conquered.  He  had  made  himself  the  hero  of  the 
day.  Wounded,  but  exulting  he  was  borne  from  the  field;  and 
soon  after  the  attack  closed  on  all  sides,  for  with  his  departure 
the  master-spirit  had  vanished.  Darkness  fell  upon  the  scene ;  the 
smoke  gradually  lifting  from  the  field,  slowly  eddied  away ;  but  in 
the  dim  obscurity,  only  an  undistinguishable  mass  of  broken  artil- 
lery wagons,  shattered  carriages  and  heaps  of  dead  were  discernible. 
But,  it  was  known  that  the  enemy  were  everywhere  driven  back  ; 
and  far  over  the  valley  lights  -were  seen,  which  told  that  the  Ameri- 
cans were  established  in  the  Hessian  camp.  As  the  wounded  hero 
lay  on  his  couch,  news  was  brought  him  that  the  army  attributed  to 
him  the  chief  glory  of  the  day.  The  welcome  intelligence  compen- 
sated him  for  his  suffering.  His  proud  soul  swelled  with  the  thought 
that  though  deprived  of  his  command  and  sought  to  be  disgraced  by 
his  superior,  he  had  plucked  the  laurels  from  the  brow  of  Gates ; 
and,  in  the  sanguine  exhilaration  of  the  hour,  he  looked  forward 
to  a  long  career  of  glory  and  to  a  triumph  over  all  his  enemies,  as 
galling  to  them  as  it  would  be  delicious  to  himself.  Nor  was  he  dis- 
appointed, at  least  in  a  part  of  his  expectations.  Congress,  on  receiv- 
ing intelligence  of  the  battle  of  Behmis'  Heights,  immediately  elevated 
Arnold  to  his  long  desired  rank.  Felicitations  poured  in  on  him  from 
every  quarter.  At  Albany,  whither  he  had  retired  in  consequence 
of  his  wound,  he  became  an  object  of  universal  interest.  Burgoyne, 
after  the  capitulation,  personally  complimented  him  on  his  intrepidity. 
In  short,  he  was  now  at  the  zenith  of  his  dazzling  career — the  won- 
der and  applause  of  his  countrymen  ;  but  alas  !  the  star  that  blazed 
so  brilliantly  was  only  a  false  meteor,  which  already  began  to  dim, 
and  which  was  destined,  amid  gloom  and  tempest,  to  grow  darker 
and  darker  to  the  close  ! 

His  wound  proving  tedious  and  unfitting  him  for  service,  Arnold, 
after  the  recovery  of  Philadelphia,  was  assigned  the  command  of 
that  place.  His  duties  were  never  exactly  defined,  and  his  interfer- 


BENEDICT    ARNOLD.  337 

ence  soon  offended  the  authorities  of  Pennsylvania,  the  result  of  which 
was  another  of  those  unfortunate  quarrels  in  which  Arnold  continued 
to  be  involved,  from  the  beginning  to  the  close  of  his  military  career. 
His  enemies  charged  him  with  extortion,  oppression,  and  applying 
the  public  money  to  his  own  use ;  he  retorted  in  his  old  manner, 
impetuously  and  defyingly,  appealing  to  his  services  as  a  defence. 
It  is  not  our  purpose  to  dig  up  and  expose,  from  the  grave  of  buried 
animosities,  the  unhappy  bickerings,  and  more  unhappy  recrimina- 
tions of  that  controversy.  Our  present  aim  requires  only  that  we 
should  state  accurately  the  amount  of  Arnold's  guilt.  This  extended 
to  imprudence,  but  scarcely  to  crime.  However,  his  old  enemies 
had  never  been  conciliated,  and  these  now  joining  their  outcries  to 
his  new  ones,  both  together  produced  an  uproar  against  which  even 
Arnold  could  make  no  head,  notwithstanding  the  brilliancy  of  his 
reputation.  He  became  excessively  unpopular  in  Philadelphia.  At 
last  the  state  authorities  exhibited  charges  against  him  for  pretended 
oppressive  and  illegal  acts  ;  and,  in  the  end,  a  military  tribunal  was 
appointed  to  examine  and  adjudicate  on  the  case.  His  trial  began 
in  June,  1779,  but,  owing  to  the  movements  of  the  army,  it  was  not 
concluded  until  January,  1780.  To  the  astonishment  of  Arnold  it 
ended  in  his  conviction  on  two  of  the  charges.  He  was  not  found 
guilty  of  any  Criminality,  however,  but  of  imprudent  and  improper 
conduct  for  one  in  his  high  station.  He  was  sentenced  to  be  repri- 
manded by  Washington. 

Simultaneously  with  the  progress  of  this  quarrel,  Arnold  had  been 
engaged  in  endeavoring  to  obtain  a  settlement  of  his  accounts  with 
Congress.  The  old  difficulties,  however,  interposed.  In  the  end, 
Congress  agreed  to  allow  him  about  half  of  his  claims,  but  inti- 
mated that  he  was  then  receiving  more  than  he  had  any  right  to 
expect.  At  this,  his  resentment  broke  forth  into  the  most  violent 
invectives  against  the  injustice  of  that  body.  In  public  and  private 
he  declaimed  of  the  ingratitude  of  his  country.  There  is  no  doubt 
that  Congress  was  torn  by  factions,  and  that  many  members  opposed 
Arnold  from  improper  motives ;  but  there  is  as  little  doubt  that,  in 
his  accounts,  he  was  endeavoring  to  plunder  his  country.  Even  had 
he  been  perfectly  innocent, however, the  injustice  of  otherswould  have 
been  no  defence  of  his  subsequent  conduct.  But  Arnold  was  not  one  to 
reason  thus.  His  character  was  such  that  he  often  fancied  himself 
injured  when  he  was  not;  and  when  he  fancied  himself  injured,  his 
first  thought  was  of  revenge.  To  gain  this  he  was  willing  to  sacri- 
fice everything — honor,  a  good  name,  his  home,  his  country.  He 
had  long  nursed  this  foul  sentiment  secretly  in  his  bosom,  and  had 

43  DD 


338  THE  HEROES  OP  THE  REVOLUTION. 

even  taken  some  steps  to  carry  it  into  execution,  with  the  intention 
of  pursuing  or  abandoning  it  as  circumstances  should  recommend  ; 
but  now,  when  Congress  gave  this  implicit  censure  in  their  report, 
and  afterwards  approved  the  sentence  of  the  court  martial  by  which 
he  was  subjected  to  the  ignominy  of  a  reprimand,  he  resolved  to 
adopt  the  measure  he  had  as  yet  only  vaguely  conceived.  Another 
circumstance  contributed  to  hasten  this  resolution,  which  we  must 
present,  before  a  just  estimate  of  his  character  can  be  formed. 

On  his  arrival  at  Philadelphia,  Arnold  had  given  way  to  the 
natural  selfishness  and  vanity  of  his  soul,  by  adopting  a  style  of  the 
most  ostentatious  living,  and  one  little  in  consonance  with  his  com- 
paratively narrow  means.  He  leased  the  house  of  Governor  Penn, 
drove  a  carriage  and  four,  gave  splendid  entertainments,  and,  in 
every  way,  sought  to  vie  with  the  wealthiest  inhabitants  of  the  place. 
He  formed  an  attachment  for  Miss  Shippen,  a  young  lady  of  great 
beauty,  whose  connexions  and  sympathies  were  chiefly  with  the 
loyalists,  and  who  had  herself  been  an  admired  belle  in  the  circle  of 
the  British  officers  during  their  late  occupation  of  the  city.  The 
society  into  which  this  marriage  threw  him,  increased  the  suspicion 
into  which  Arnold  fell.  Neither  did  it  diminish  his  expensive 
habits.  He  soon  began  to  feel  the  necessity  of  recruiting  his  finances. 
For  this  purpose  he  embarked  in  privateering,  but  met  with  no 
success.  He  wrote  to  Washington,  proposing  to  take  the  command 
of  the  navy ;  but  as  he  received  no  encouragement,  he  abandoned 
his  project.  He  then  waited  on  the  Chevalier  de  la  Luzerne, 
Ambassador  from  the  Court  of  France,  and  proposed  to  that  gentle- 
man to  advance  him  a  loan  from  the  Court  of  Versailles;  but 
the  Chevalier,  who  felt  an  interest  in  so  brave  a  man,  kindly  repre- 
sented that  any  such  loan  would  be  considered  by  his  enemies,  in 
the  light  of  a  bribe,  and  to  Arnold's  chagrin,  declined  it.  Thus, 
impelled  at  once  by  his  necessities,  and  by  the  desire  for  revenge,  he 
resolved  to  consummate  the  treason  he  had  long  projected. 

Even  before  the  period  when  the  court  of  inquiry  was  first  ordered 
on  his  conduct,  so  early  indeed  as  the  spring  of  1779,  Arnold  had 
opened  a  secret  correspondence  with  Sir  Henry  Clinton,  under  the 
assumed  character  of  a  merchant,  adopting  the  fictitious  name  of 
Anderson.  Clinton  at  once  suspected,  from  the  contents  of  the  let- 
ters, that  his  correspondent  was  a  man  of  rank  in  the  American 
army ;  and  giving  the  epistles  into  the  hand  of  Major  Andre,  his 
protegee,  directed  him  to  answer  them.  Andre  replied  over  the 
signature  of  Gustavus.  The  correspondence  was  continued,  without 
Clinton  discovering  the  name  of  the  traitor,  until  the  trial  of  Arnold, 


BENEDICT    ARNOLD.  339 

•£ 

when  the  British  General  became  convinced,  by  a  combination  of 
various  circumstances,  that  this  wr%s  the  man.  When,  therefore, 
shortly  after,  the  command  of  West  Point  was  given  to  Arnold,  and 
Clinton  received  a  letter  from  the  pretended  Anderson,  stating  that 
he  was  now  in  a  situation  to  render  a  vast  service  to  the  royal  cause, 
but  wished  to  have  a  private  interview  with  some  responsible  officer, 
in  order  to  adjust  the  terms,  the  British  General  felt  justified  in 
deputing  Major  Andre,  we  may  suppose  with  ample  powers,  to 
meet  this  secret  friend,  and,  if  he  should  prove  to  be  Arnold,  to 
promise  everything  in  order  to  obtain  possession  of  West  Point. 

For  that  fortress,  in  consequence  of  being  the  depot  where  the 
stores  were  deposited,  which  had  been  collected  in  view  of  the  pro- 
jected attack  on  New  York,  was  now  a  prize  of  the  highest  value 
10  Clinton,  since  its  capture  would  at  once  derange  the  plans  of  the 
enemy,  and  break  up  altogether  the  approaching  campaign.  Nor 
had  Arnold  obtained  the  command  of  this  post  without  much  finesse. 
Indeed,  from  the  hour  when  he  resolved  on  his  treason,  he  began  to 
display  a  subtlety,  little  of  which  had  been  evinced  in  his  former 
life,  and  which  would  have  been  thought  incompatible  with  his 
impetuosity.  Instead  of  openly  asking  for  the  command,  he  ap- 
proached  his  object  by  tortuous  steps,  procuring  others  to  suggest 
him  for  it,  and  then  merely  hinting  to  Washington  its  fitness  for 
him,  in  consequence  of  his  wounded  leg,  which  had  not  yet  grown 
strong.  Once  in  possession  of  the  place  he  became  urgent,  as  we 
have  seen,  for  an  interview  with  some  responsible  British  officer. 
He  himself  suggested  Andre  as  a  proper  person.  That  gallant 
officer,  on  being  applied  to,  accepted  the  task,  though  unwillingly. 

What  took  place  at  the  interview  that  followed  is  a  secret  which 
descended  to  the  grave  with  its  guilty  perpetrators.  Nor  are  the 
results  known,  except  so  far  as  they  were  betrayed  by  the  papers 
found  in  Andre's  boots,  at  the  time  of  his  capture.  But  from  these 
it  would  appear  that  Sir  Henry  Clinton,  on  an  appointed  day,  was 
to  have  advanced  up  the  Hudson  with  the  flower  of  his  army,  arid 
that  Arnold  was  to  have  placed  the  garrison  of  West  Point  in  such 
situations  that  the  place  would  have  fallen  an  easy  prey  to  the 
enemy.  Andre  was  to  have  led  one  of  the  columns,  and  to  have 
been  rewarded,  in  case  of  success,  with  the  rank  of  Brigadier.  WThat 
was  to  have  been  the  compensation  of  Arnold,  in  the  event  of  this 
triumph,  we  have  no  means  of  determining,  though,  from  the  letters 
of  Clinton  to  the  British  Ministry,  it  is  evident  that  no  price  was 
considered  too  great  to  secure  the  possession  of  West  Point.  Fortu- 
nately, the  plot  failed.  In  the  very  moment  of  apparent  success, 


340 


THE  HEROES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 


when  the  arch  conspirator  was  already  counting  his  gains,  the 
unexpected  arrest  of  Andre  frustrated  the  whole  treason,  and  brought 
ruin  on  its  plotters.  Yet  fate  most  unequally  awarded  the  penalties 
Andre,  the  accomplished,  gallant,  noble-hearted  gentleman,  the  pride 
of  the  British  army,  and  the  stay  of  his  widowed  mother  and  of  his 
sisters,  died  a  felon's  death ;  while  Arnold,  the  mercenary  patriot, 


HEAD-QUARTBKS  AT   TAPPAN. 


the  unprincipled  man,  the  officer  without  honor,  the  heart  black  with 
base  revenge,  escaped  by  a  combination  of  the  most  fortuitous  cir- 
cumstances, and  died,  at  last,  in  his  bed.  But  time  has,  in  part, 
made  amends  for  this  apparent  injustice.  The  story  of  Andre  is 
now  never  told  without  a  tear;  while  the  treason  of  Arnold  is 
always  heard  with  execrations.  The  one,  exhumed  from  his  hum- 
ble grave  on  the  Hudson,  lies  in  the  stately  shades  of  Westminster 
Abbey,  and,  of  all  the  heroes,  and  sages,  and  poets  there,  attracts 
the  first  attention :  the  other,  buried  in  his  obscure  grave,  without  a 
monument  to  mark  the  spot,  survives  only  as  a  lesson  to  our  children, 
as  a  hissing  and  reproach  among  nations. 

We  have  not,  it  will  be  seen,  followed  the  episode  of  Andre  into 
its  details.  The  narrative  is  familiar  to  all.  But  we  have  endeavored 
to  do  what  is  more  to  our  purpose,  to  analyze  the  causes  of  Arnold's 
treason.  We  have  traced,  step  by  step,  the  growth  of  that  dark 
design  in  his  unprincipled,  selfish,  and  revengeful  bosom ;  and  have 
successfully  proved,  we  think,  that  the  sequence  was  a  natural  one, 


••w 

BENEDICT    ARNOLD.  341 

under  the  circumstances,  to  a  mind  like  his.  There  was  no  mon- 
strosity in  the  wickedness  of  Arnold.  He  was  not,  as  the  early  wri- 
ters loved  to  paint  him,  a  fiend  in  human  shape.  On  the  contrary, 
he  was  just  such  a  person  as  hundreds  might  become,  if  they  should 
cast  aside  the  restraints  of  virtue.  He  was  only  a  bad  man,  whose 
violent  passions,  uncontrolled  by  moral  principles,  seduced  him  in- 
sensibly to  his  ruin.  He  was  brave,  it  is  true,  even  to  heroism;  but 
this,  rightly  considered,  is  no  extenuation  of  his  crime  :  on  the  con- 
trary, it  awakens  indignation,  perhaps  mingled  a  little  with  regret, 
that  one  who  might  have  served  his  country  so  effectually,  chose 
rather  to  serve  her  foes.  Men  of  Arnold's  character  continually  cross 
the  path  of  those  conversant  with  criminal  courts ;  men  of  high  ani- 
mal courage,  but  low  in  the  scale  of  morals ;  men  who  are  burglars, 
or  Highwaymen,  or  murderers,  as  the  circumstances  may  demand. 
It  was  his  fortune  to  move  in  a  higher  sphere  only  :  had  his  situation 
been  different  his  fate  might  have  been  theirs.  We  are  not  of  those 
who  think  he  ever  could  have  been  a  permanent  ornament  to  his 
country.  Had  his  grievances  been  even  less,  or  had  they  been  none 
at  all,  he  would,  sooner  or  later,  have  become  a  dangerous  man  in 
consequence  of  his  depravity  of  principle.  "  Can  the  leopard  change 
his  spots,  or  the  Ethiopian  his  skin  ?"  In  a  word,  Arnold  had  half 
the  elements  of  a  hero,  and  half  the  elements  of  a  villain ;  but  the 
villain  triumphed  over  the  hero. 

The  events  of  the  traitor's  subsequent  career  may  be  told  in  a  few 
words.  On  his  flight  to  New  York,  he  was  appointed  a  Colonel  in 
the  British  army  with  the  brevet  of  a  Brigadier.  He  immediately 
began  to  raise  a  regiment  of  loyalists  and  renegades,  and  published 
an  address  to  the  Americans,  inviting  them  to  return  to  their  alle- 
giance. His  proclamation  was  treated  with  scorn ;  and,  with  all  his 
efforts,  his  regiment  filled  up  but  slowly.  Eager  to  display  his  zeal 
for  the  royal  cause,  he  solicited  active  employment,  and  was  sent  on 
an  expedition  against  Virginia,  where  his  atrocities  will  be  long  re- 
membered. He  did  not  succeed,  however,  in  gaining  the  confidence 
of  his  new  employers ;  for  Clinton,  when  he  assigned  him  this  com- 
mand, attached  Colonels  Dundas  and  Simcoe  to  the  expedition,  and 
ordered  them  secretly  to  watch  Arnold ;  and  subsequently,  when 
Cornwallis  arrived  in  Virginia,  one  of  his  first  acts  was  to  banish  the 
traitor  from  head-quarters.  The  antipathy  to  him  in  the  British  army 
was  so  great  that,  finding  he  could  get  no  respectable  officers  to  serve 
under  him,  he  sailed  for  Europe  before  the  war  closed.  None  of 
his  acts  in  America,  after  his  treason,  reflect  the  slightest  credit  on 

DD* 


342  THE  HEROES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 

him;  but,  on  the  contrary,  his  ferocity  at  New  London  and  in  Virgi- 
nia, increased  the  infamy  of  his  name. 

Arrived  in  England,  his  reception  was  not  more  favorable  than  in 
New  York.  The  government,  from  motives  of  interest,  continued  to 
shew  him  favor;  but  in  private  society  he  was  shunned  by  men  of 
honor  and  subjected  to  daily  insults.  Lord  Lauderdale,  observing 
him  standing  near  the  throne,  when  the  sovereign  came  in  state  to 
the  House,  remarked  that  notwithstanding  the  gracicfusness  of  his 
majesty's  language,  his  indignation  was  aroused  to  see  the  King 
supported  by  a  traitor.  Lord  Surry,  on  one  occasion  having  risen 
to  address  the  House,  and  seeing  Arnold  in  the  gallery,  set  down, 
declaring  he  would  not  speak  while  such  a  man  was  present.  When 
the  war  with  France  broke  out,  Arnold  solicited  employment,  but 
the  government,  finding  that  no  officer  would  serve  under  him, 
declined  his  services.  In  the  interval  he  had  removed  to  St.  Johns, 
New  Brunswick,  and  engaged  in  trade ;  and  to  compensate  him  in 
part  for  his  services,  the  ministry  afforded  him  lucrative  contracts  for 
supplying  the  West  India  troops  with  provisions. .  His  style  of  living 
was  still  profuse  and  showy;  but  though  received  on  this  account 
among  the  wealthier  classes,  he  soon  became  odious  with  the  popu- 
lace. He  finally  returned  to  London,  where  he  died  on  the  14th  of 
June,  1801,  at  the  age  of  sixty-one. 

His  wife  clung  to  him  throughout  all,  the  same  in  his  guilt  as  in 
his  glory.  The  morning  of  his  flight,  he  called  her  to  his  chamber 
and  hastily  unfolding  to  her  his  story,  left  her  senseless  at  the  dis- 
closure and  hurried  away.  Her  distraction  has  been  eloquently 
painted  by  the  pen  of  Hamilton,  and  is  said  to  have  drawn  tears 
from  Washington,  whom,  in  her  delirious  agony,  she  upbraided  as 
the  cause  of  her  sorrows.  It  has  been  thought,  by  some,  that  this 
was  only  acting,  and  that  she  had  been,  all  along,  the  confidant  of 
her  husband's  treason.  But  this  is  an  error.  Mrs.  Arnold  gave  no 
assistance  to  the  plot,  unless  by  feeding  unconsciously  her  husband's 
love  of  extravagance.  When  she  recovered,  she  desired  to  be  allowed 
to  join  him,  and,  throughout  his  subsequent  career,  clung  to  him  with 
all  a  woman's  devotion.  We  cannot  dismiss  this  subject  without  an 
anecdote  illustrative  of  the  temper  of  the  American  populace  towards 
females.  Mrs.  Arnold  was  travelling  to  join  her  husband  when  she 
stopped,  for  the  night,  at  a  village  where  the  mob  were  about  burning 
the  traitor  in  effigy ;  but  the  rioters,  hearing  of  her  arrival,  postponed 
their  sport.  Would  the  populace  of  any  other  nation  have  dis- 
played a  similar  delicacy  ? 


GENERAL   JAMES   CLINTON'S   ESCAPE   FROM    FORT   CLINTON. 


JAMES    CLINTON. 


T  would  be  invidious  in  any  history  of  the  war  of 


I<F     independence,  to  pass  over  the  services  of  the  two 
-       Clintons   of  New   York.     GEN.  GEORGE  CLINTON, 
the    youngest   of   the    two    brothers,   contributed, 
2^.-    more  than  any  other  man  in  that  commonwealth,  to 
the  success  of  the  cause.     His  popularity  and  influ- 
ence there  were  unbounded.     He  was  Governor  of 
the  state  for  eighteen  years,  having  been  first  elected 
in    1777,   and   afterwards  continued,   by  triennial 
elections,  until  1795.    In  1805,  he  was  chosen  Vice- 
President  of  the  United  States,and  died  in  1812,while  still  in  possession 

343 


344  THE  HEROES  OP  THE  KEVOLUTION. 

of  that  high  office.  As  he  was  rather  a  civil  than  a  military  character, 
we  dismiss  him  with  this  brief  allusion  to  his  inestimable  services. 

His  brother,  James  Clinton,  a  Major-Gerieral  in  the  continental 
line,  having  been  more  actively  employed  in  a  military  capacity, 
comes  more  properly  within  the  scope  of  this  work.  He  was  the 
fourth  son  of  Colonel  Charles  Clinton,  an  Irish  emigrant,  and  was 
born  in  Ulster  county,  on  the  19th  of  August,  1736.  In  early  life  he 
possessed  few  adventitious  aids  to  success  except  an  excellent  edu- 
da'tipii,  a  gift  which  he  shared  in  common  with  his  four  brothers. 
Eviicing  an  inclination  for  the  military  life,  he  was  appointed,  in 
1756\  an  Ensign  in  a  militia  regiment,  from  which  rank  he  rose  in 
1758,  to  a  Lieutenancy,  and,  in  1759,  to  a  Captaincy.  In  1763  he 
was  elevated  to  the  post  of  Captain-Commandant  of  the  four  compa- 
nies raised  to  defend  the  western  frontiers  of  New  York ;  and,  in 
1774,  he  became  Lieutenant-Colonel  of  the  second  regiment  of  mili- 
tia, in  his  native  country.  In  the  French  war  he  participated  in  the 
capture  of  Fort  Frontenac,  and  won  a  reputation  for  gallantry,  reso- 
lution and  military  skill.  At  the  close  of  the  war  he  married  a  Miss 
De  Witt,  and  retired  to  private  life.  But,  like  other  veterans  of  that 
contest,  when  the  revolutionary  war  became  inevitable,  he  cheerfully 
resumed  his  old  profession,  and  prepared  to  shed  his  blood  for  free- 
dom. Congress  immediately  gave  him  the  commission  of  a  Colo- 
nel, and  subsequently,  in  1776,  that  of  a  Brigadier.  It  was  not  until 
the  close  of  the  strife  that  he  attained  the  rank  of  a  Major-General. 

Clinton  served  in  the  expedition  against  Canada,  under  Montgo- 
mery ;  but  his  chief  military  achievement  was  the  defence  of  Fort 
Clinton,  on  the  Hudson,  in  October,  1777.  His  brother,  Governor 
Clinton,  as  Commander-in-chief,  was  at  Fort  Montgomery,  its  neigh- 
bor. The  attack  on  these  forts  was  part  of  a  plan  conceived  by  Sir 
Henry  Clinton,  to  create  a  diversion  in  favor  of  Burgoyne  and  open 
a  passage,  up  the  Hudson,  to  that  unfortunate  Genera  1.  Accordingly, 
at  the  head  of  four  thousand  men,  the  British  General  advanced  up 
that  river,  and  having  surrounded  Forts  Montgomery  and  Clinton, 
made  a.  desperate  assault  upon  them.  They  were  defended  by  only 
about  five  hundred  men,,  chiefly  militia,  while  the  works  themselves 
were  in  a  very  unfinished  condition.  Yet  the  resistance,  though 
hopeless,  was  glorious  to  our  arms.  Militia  as  well  as  regulars 
behaved  with  the  courage  of  heroes.  Manning  their  feeble  lines, 
the  Americans  fought  on  until  sundown,  an  incessant  fire  continu- 
ally girdling  the  entrenchments,  the  echoes  of  which,  reverberating 
through  the  hills,  spread  terror  far  and  wide  among  the  inhabitants 
of  that  quiet  region.  At  last  the  overwhelming  numbers  of  the  ene- 


JAMES    CLINTON.  345 

my  could  be  resisted  no  longer ;  and,  like  a  solid  wave  of  infantry, 
the  British  poured  over  the  walls.  Some  few  of  the  conquered 
fought  their  way  out,  while  the  darkness  of  the  night  assisted  others 
to  escape.  Fortunately,  neither  the  Governor  nor  his  brother  were 
taken.  The  latter  made  an  escape  which  is  as  full  of  romance  as 
that  of  any  fabled  knight  of  chivalry. 

James  Clinton  was  the  last  man  to  abandon  the  works.  Pursued 
and  fired  at  by  the  enemy,  and  with  a  severe  wound  from  a  bayonet 
thrust,  he  yet  succeeded  in  making  his  escape  and  eluding  the  search 
of  the  British.  His  servant  was  killed  during  the  flight,  and  he  now 
found  himself  alone.  He  knew  if  he  retained  his  horse  he  should 
be  detected,  so,  removing  the  bridle  from  the  faithful  animal,  he  dis- 
missed him,  and  slid  down  a  precipice,  one  hundred  feet  in  depth, 
to  the  ravine  which  separated  the  forts.  A  small  brook  threads  its 
way  through  this  narrow  cleft.  Into  this  Clinton  fell,  and  luckily 
the  cold  water  checked  the  effusion  of  blood  from  his  wound. 
Creeping  along  the  precipitous  banks,  he  finally  gained  a  part  of  the 
mountain  at  a  distance  from  the  fort ;  and  here  he  sat  down,  weak 
and  cold,  to  think  on  his  still  perilous  situation.  The  return  of  light 
he  knew  would  betray  him,  unless  he  could  fortunately  discover  a 
horse,  a  contingency  not  altogether  impossible,  as  horses  sometimes 
ran  wild  in  that  desolate  region.  He  watched  the  slow  approach  of 
dawn  with  anxious  misgivings.  One  by  one  the  stars  paled,  and  the 
cold  grey  of  the  morning  stole  over  the  landscape.  He  was  still  so 
near  the  fort  that  he  could  hear  the  reveille.  The  chill  dusky  hue  of 
early  dawn  began  to  redden,  and  at  last  the  sun  shot  above  the 
eastern  hills.  A  few  hours  now,  perhaps  a  few  minutes,  would  re- 
veal him  to  the  foe.  Faint  from  loss  of  blood,  and  stiff  from  expo- 
sure to  the  night  dews,  he  struggled  wearily  on,  when,  suddenly,  a 
neigh  rose  on  the  stillness  of  the  morning  and  a  horse  appeared  in 
sight.  Clinton  soon  succeeded  in  catching  the  prize.  His  bridle, 
which  he  had  preserved,  was  now  invaluable.  About  noon,  he 
reached  his  own  house,  sixteen  miles  from  the  fort,  his  clothes  torn, 
his  person  covered  with  blood,  and  a  high  fever  raging  in  his  veins. 

In  1779,  Clinton  commanded  a  detachment  of  sixteen  hundred 
men,  which  was  sent  into  the  country  of  the  Six  Nations,  in  order 
to  assist  Sullivan  in  his  expedition  against  those  hostile  Indians.  He 
had  arrived  at  the  head  of  Owego  Lake,  but  finding  the  Susquehan- 
nah,  which  there  debouches  from  the  lake,  too  shallow  to  float  his 
batteaux,  he  raised  a  dam  across  the  aperture,  and  when  the  waters 
had  collected  sufficiently,  he  broke  down  the  barrier  and  thus  bore 
his  troops  triumphantly  to  Tioga.  The  Indians  made  a  stand  at 
44 


346  THE    HEROES    OF    THE    REVOLUTION. 

Newtown,  on  the  29th  of  August,  1779,  but  their  fortifications  were 
carried  in  a  vigorous  assault,  and,  after  that,  no  further  resistance 
was  made.  The  Americans  now  proceeded  to  inflict  summary  ven- 
geance for  the  massacre  of  Wyoming.  The  Indians  inhabiting  that 
district,  had  attained  to  comparative  civilization.  They  possessed 
villages,  gardens,  orchards,  corn-fields,  horses  and  cows,  and  farming 
implements  of  the  most  approved  construction.  Their  dwellings 
were  commodious,  some  even  elegant.  Through  and  through  that 
beautiful  district  went  the  fire-brand  and  the  sword.  The  wife 
fled  from  her  home,  as  the  Americans  appeared,  but  lingered  in  the 
woods  nigh  until  she  saw  it  given  to  the  flames ;  then,  with  fast  fall- 
ing tears,  she  took  her  children  by  the  hand  and  began  her  weary 
journey,  through  the  wilderness,  to  Fort  Niagara.  All  day  the 
smoke  of  houses  and  barns  darkened  those  beautiful  vallies :  ail 
night  the  glare  of  conflagrations  lit  up  the  heavens  for  miles.  If 
compunctious  feelings  visited  the  destroyers,  they  thought  of  the 
atrocities  at  Wyoming,  and,  after  that,  needed  nothing  to  nerve  them 
to  the  task.  Even  at  this  day  only  a  morbid  sensibility  can  censure 
this  retaliation.  It  was  necessary  that  the  plough-share  of  ruin 
should  be  driven  through  the  heart  of  that  proud  nation  before  peace 
could  be  secured  to  our  frontier  settlements.  While  the  bones  of 
innocent  women  and  children  still  lay  bleaching  in  the  valley  of 
Wyoming,  it  could  not  be  expected  that  the  homes  of  those  savage 
invaders  should  be  spared.  From  that  day  the  once  mighty  nation 
of  Iroquois  was  prostrated  forever. 

Clinton  was,  for  some  time,  in  command  of  the  northern  depart- 
ment at  Albany.  He  was  subsequently  attached  to  the  main 
army,  and  was  present  at  the  capture  of  Cornwallis.  When  the 
British  evacuated  New  York,  Clinton  made  his  last  appearance  in 
arms.  He  now  retired  to  his  ample  estates.  He  was,  however,  not 
suffered  always  to  enjoy  the  repose  he  had  so  fairly  earned;  but,  on 
several  occasions,  was  called,  unsolicited,  to  civic  honors.  He  was 
one  of  the  convention  that  formed  the  present  federal  constitution. 

James  Clinton  was  one  of  the  sincerest  patriots  the  Revolution  af- 
forded. He  was  as  superior  in  his  qualifications  for  a  military  life,  as 
his  brother  was  in  fitness  for  civil  duties.  In  battle  he  was  cool,  ready 
and  courageous.  No  crisis,  however  unexpected,  destroyed  the 
balance  of  his  mind.  In  temper  he  was  usually  mild  and  affection- 
ate ;  but  his  passions  were  strong,  and  when  once  aroused,  terrific. 
The  duties  of  ordinary  life  he  discharged  in  an  exemplary  manner. 
His  death  occurred  on  the  22nd  of  December,  1812. 


JOHN     SULLIVAN. 

OHN  SULLIVAN,  a  Major-General 
the  continental  army,  was  one  of 
tliose  military  commanders  whom  mis- 
fortune seems  to  take  pleasure  in  pursuing. 
Whatever  he  undertook,  with  but  one  ex- 
ception, failed.  He  began  his  career  by  re- 
treating from  Canada,  and  ended  it  by  a 
fruitless  siege  of  Newport.  The  loss  of  the 
battles  of  Long  Island  and  of  Brandy  wine  has 
always  been  attributed  to  him  in  popular  history.  Nor  has  he 
escaped  condemnation  altogether  for  the  defeat  at  Germantown. 
Like  St.  Clair,  he  is  censured  more  than  he  deserves,  though,  like 
that  General,  his  misfortunes  arose,  in  part,  from  his  own  faults. 
But  Sullivan  was  an  abler  General  than  St.  Clair.  Indeed,  on  a 
review  of  his  career,  he  appears  to  have  possessed  every  requisite 
for  a  successful  soldier,  except  the  foresight  to  provide  against  possi- 
ble contingencies.  Whatever  share  he  had  in  the  errors  at  Long 
Island  and  Brandywine  is  attributable  entirely  to  a  neglect  of  this 
prudential  foresight.  If  he  had  caused  the  upper  pass  in  the  one 
case,  and  the  higher  fords  in  the  other  to  be  watched,  defeat 
might  probably  have  been  averted,  and  victory  possibly  won. 
Napoleon  never  committed  such  oversights.  This  want  of  careful 
preparation  on  all  points,  was  the  great  error  of  Sullivan's  military 
career.  His  hasty  temper,  united  with  a  spice  of  vanity,  were  his 

347 


- 

348  THE    HEROES    OF    THE    REVOLUTION. 

foibles  in  social  life.  These  two  radical  defects,  one  in  the  leader 
the  other  in  the  man,  explain  the  failures  for  which,  at  last,  he 
became  proverbial. 

Sullivan  was  born  at  Berwick,  in  the  province  of  Maine,  February 
the  17th,  1,740.  He  was  educated  for  the  bar,  and  settled  in  Dur- 
ham, New  Hampshire.  Gifted  with  a  fine  voice,  great  self-posses- 
sion, a  copious  eloquence,  and  strong  powers  of  reasoning,  he  soon 
rose  to  eminence  among  his  fellow  citizens.  Distinguishing  him- 
self on  the  colonial  side,  in  the  dispute  then  going  on  between 
America  and  England,  he  was  elected  a  member  of  the  first  Congress. 
In  December,  1774,  two  months  after  the  Congress  had  adjourned, 
and  four  months  prior  to  the  battle  of  Lexington,  he  commanded 
an  expedition,  in  conjunction  with  the  celebrated  John  Langdon, 
which  seized  the  valuable  stores  in  the  fort  at  Portsmouth.  Again 
elected  to  Congress,  he  was  in  attendance  on  that  body  when  he 
received  the  appointment  of  Brigadier-General,  and  his  ambition 
aspiring  to  distinction  in  military,  rather  than  in  civil  affairs,  he  at 
once  embarked  in  the  new  career  thus  opened  to  him.  His  first 
command  was  that  of  the  army  of  Canada.  Anxious  to  acquire  a 
reputation,  he  was  induced  to  protract  the  struggle  there  longer  than 
was  prudent,  and  the  unfortunate  defeat  at  the  Three  Rivers  was 
the  consequence.  On  his  return  to  the  States  he  found  that  Gates 
had  been  appointed  to  supersede  him.  Giving  way  to  his  natural  impe- 
tuosity, he  sent  in  his  resignation,  but  through  the  prudent  counsels 
of  Washington,  reconsidered  his  design.  The  next  occasion  on 
which  he  came  before  the  public  eye  was  at  the  battle  of  Long 
Island,  where  he  was  General-in-chief  of  the  troops  without  the 
lines.  The  defeat,  on  that  occasion,  as  we  have  shown  in  the 
memoir  of  Stirling,  arose  from  the  Jamaica  pass  not  being  sufficiently 
guarded ;  and  as  Sullivan  had  been  on  the  ground  longer  than  Put- 
nam, the  censure,  if  any,  must  fall  on  him.  He  fought,  however, 
with  bravery  when  he  found  himself  surrounded.  Indeed,  whatever 
faults  Sullivan  may  have  possessed,  a  want  of  courage  was  not  one  of 
them.  He  was  taken  prisoner  in  this  battle,  but  soon  after  exchanged. 

He  joined  the  army  of  Washington  during  the  disastrous  period 
immediately  preceding  the  battle'  of  Trenton ;  and,  when  Lee  was 
surprised  and  made  captive  by  the  enemy,  assumed  command  of  his 
division.  He  had  now  risen  to  the  rank  of  Major-General,  and  was 
the  senior  officer  of  that  description  in  the  army.  This  entitled  him 
to  lead  the  right  wing  in  the  surprise  at  Trenton.  His  conduct  in 
that  battle  conduced  materially  to  the  victory,  a  point  which  is 
overlooked  by  those  who  so  unduly  depreciate  his  services.  He 
shared  also  in  the  glory  of  Princeton.  During  the  next  campaign, 


JOHN    SULLIVAN.  349 

after  Washington  had  advanced  southward  to  meet  Sir  William 
Howe,  Sullivan  projected  an  expedition  against  Staten  Island,  in 
order  to  cut  off  a  detachment  of  the  enemy,  two  thousand  strong, 
whose  incursions  into  New  Jersey  continually  annoyed  the  people 
of  that  state.  On  the  afternoon  of  the  21st  of  August  he  set  out  to 
execute  his  design.  The  various  detachments  into  which  he  divided 
his  forces  crossed  before  day-break,  and,  for  a  while,  everything 
promised  success ;  but,  in  the  end,  the  British  rallied,  and  coming  up 
at  a  critical  juncture,  when  the  Americans  were  waiting  for  their 
boats,  which  had  been  carried  off  through  a  mistake,  changed  the 
fortune  of  the  day.  The  loss  on  both  sides,  however,  was  about 
equal.  One  hundred  and  fifty  prisoners  were  taken  by  Sullivan :  one 
hundred  and  thirty  by  the  British.  The  failure  of  this  enterprise 
led  to  a  court  of  inquiry  on  his  conduct ;  but  the  result  was  an 
honorable  acquittal.  However,  as  in  the  case  of  Arnold,  his  irritable 
temper  and  tone  of  defiance  secretly  increased  the  number  of  his 
foes,  who,  though  at  present  smothering  their  resentment,  waited  for 
an  opportunity  to  injure  him. 

The  occasion  was  not  long  wanting.    Sir  William  Howe,  having 
landed  at  the  head  of  Elk,  was  now  rapidly  advancing  on  Philadel- 
phia ;  and  to  defend  that  city  Washington  had  taken  post  at  Chad's 
Ford,  on  the  Brandywine.     But  the  British,  instead  of  crossing  the 
stream  in  face  of  his  batteries,  chose  a  safer  plan  for  victory,  and 
one  they  had  already  tried  with  success  at  Long  Island.     They 
resolved  to  amuse  the  Americans  by  a  feigned  attempt  to  cross, 
while  the  main  body,  taking  a  circuitous  march,  should  gain  Wash- 
ington's rear.     A  suspicion  of  such  design  having  been  entertained 
in  camp,  the  Commander-in-chief  sent  for  Sullivan,  and  desired  him 
to  watch  the  fords  up  the  stream.     A  countryman,  from  whom  a 
description  of  the  fords  had  been  obtained,  was  present  at  the  inter- 
view, and,  on  Sullivan's  enquiring  if  there  were  no  other  fords 
beside  the  three  named,  this  person  answered  there  were  none,  at 
least  within  twelve  miles.     This  appears  to  have  satisfied  Sullivan, 
who   contented   himself  with   posting   guards   at  the   three   fords 
described,  without  examining  into  the  truth  of  the  countryman's 
story.   As  Washington  had  delegated  the  whole  matter  to  Sullivan,  he 
relied  confidently  on  that  General  to  perform  his  duty  faithfully ; 
but  it  is  apparent,  from  what  we  have  said,  that  Sullivan  took  too 
much  on  hearsay.    The  only  excuse  for  his  remissness  is  the  one  he 
afterwards  urged,  that,  owing  to  the  scarcity  of  light  horse,  he  co-uld 
not  patrol  the  country. 

As  the  day  advanced,  Washington,  perceiving  the  British  did  not 
cross  to  attack  him,  formed  the  bold  design  of  taking  the  initiative 


350  THE  HEROES  OP  THE  REVOLUTION. 

himself,  and  was  preparing  to  make  the  assault,  when  he  received 
the  startling  intelligence  that  the  main  body  of  the  enemy,  led  by 
Sir  William  Howe  and  Cornwallis,  after  traversing  a  circuit  of  six- 
teen miles,  had  crossed  the  Brandywine  above  its  forks,  and  was 
pouring  down  on  his  rear.  The  first  positive  information  of  this 
stratagem  was  brought  to  head-quarters  by  Thomas  Cheney,  Esq., 
a  native  of  the  vicinity,  who,  from  patriotic  motives,  had  been 
reconnoitering  the  shores  of  the  Brandywine  the  whole  morning. 
He  was  at  a  distance  of  several  miles  from  the  camp,  when,  sud- 
denly, on  reaching  the  top  of  a  hill,  he  came  in  view  of  the  enemy. 
The  British  pursued  and  fired  on  him,  but  being  mounted  on  a  mare 
renowned  for  her  fleetness,  he  escaped  from  his  enemies,  and  arrived, 
breathless,  at  head-quarters.  Here  he  demanded  to  see  Washing- 
ton. The  request  was  at  first  denied ;  but  his  eagerness  finally 
conquered,  and  he  was  admitted  to  the  presence  of  the  General. 
The  Commander-in-chief,  however,  relying  on  Sullivan's  accuracy, 
refused  to  believe  the  information.  Cheney  replied  warmly,  "  You 
are  mistaken,  General,  my  life  for  it,  you  are  mistaken,3*  and 
requested  to  be  put  under  a  guard  and  retained,  so  that  if  he  proved 
a  traitor  he  might  suffer  death.  This  earnestness  shook  Washing- 
ton's opinion.  Cheney  then  drew,  in  the  sand,  a  plan  of  the  road 
taken  by  Cornwallis.  Washington  was  now  satisfied.  He  immedi- 
ately despatched  word  to  Sullivan,  who  lay  about  a  mile  up  the 
Brandywine.  By  this  time,  however,  that  officer  also  had  discovered 
the  movement  of  the  foe.  All  was  now  hurry  and  excitement. 
Washington  hastily  directed  the  three  divisions  of  Sullivan,  Stirling 
and  Deborre  to  wheel  and  face  Cornwallis.  Accordingly  they 
marched,  by  different  routes,  to  a  high  hill  about  three  miles  in  the 
rear,  at  Birmingham  Meeting  House,  where  they  had  scarcely 
formed  before  the  British  advanced  to  the  attack.  The  Hessians 
led  the  assault,  and  were  sustained  by  the  grenadiers.  In  a  few 
nr'nutes  the  American  line  began  to  break  on  the  right,  and  the  con- 
fusion immediately  after  became  perceptible  on  the  left  also.  Sulli- 
van, whose  seniority  gave  him  the  chief  command,  made  the  most 
desperate  exertions  to  redeem  the  day.  Throwing  himself  into  Stir- 
ting's  division,  which  formed  the  centre  of  the  line,  and  which  still 
stood  its  ground,  he  inspired  the  men  by  his  personal  daring,  as  well 
as  by  his  exhortations,  and  it  was  not  until  nearly  surrounded  by 
the  victorious  enemy  that  he  consented  to  retire.  The  whole  three 
divisions  then  retreated,  Sullivan  and  Stirling  bringing  up  the  rear 
with  sullen  desperation ;  while  the  British,  cheering  triumphantly, 
followed  in  pursuit. 

Washington,  as  soon  as  he  heard  that  Cornwallis  was  in  his  rear, 


JOHN    SULLIVAX.  351 

had  abandoned  his  arrangements  for  crossing  the  Brandywine.  He 
left  Wayne,  however,  to  defend  the  ford,  while  he  moved  Greene, 
with  his  division,  some  distance  back  from  the  river,  in  order  that 
this  officer  might  assist  either  Sullivan  or  Wayne,  as  circumstances 
.should  require.  He  remained  in  person,  with  his  suite,  at  his  head- 
quarters near  the  ford.  When  the  firing  began,  in  the  direction  of 
Birmingham  Meeting  House,  he  could  not  contain  his  anxiety  ;  but 
ordered  a  guide  to  be  found  to  conduct  him,  by  the  shortest  route, 
to  the  scene  of  strife.  One  was  soon  discovered,  but  objected  to  the 
task  on  account  of  his  advanced  age.  On  this  he  was  peremptorily 
told,  by  one  of  the  suite,  that  if  he  did  not  at  once  mount  the  horse 
offered  to  him,  he  should  be  run  through  on  the  spot.  This  threat 
decided  his  scruples.  The  party  dashed  oft'  across  the  field,  leaping 
the  fences :  the  horse  of  Washington  keeping  close  to  that  of  the 
guide.  As  the  roar  of  the  battle  deepened,  the  anxiety  of  the  Gene- 
ral increased,  and  he  exclaimed  continually,  notwithstanding  the 
wild  gallop  at  which  they  went, "  Push  along,  old  man,  push  along !" 
When  they  had  arrived  within  half  a  mile  of  the  Meeting  House, 
they  met  the  Americans  in  full  retreat.  The  bullets  whistled  by, 
and  the  shouts  of  the  enemy  rose  close  at  hand.  In  the  confusion 
the  guide  stole  off.  The  genius  of  Washington  was  now  directed 
to  arrest  the  disasters  of  the  day.  Greene  was  posted  in  a  ravine, 
between  two  woods,  close  at  hand.  As  the  fugitives  came  up,  he 
opened  his  ranks  and  allowed  them  to  pass  through ;  then,  closing 
up  again,  stubbornly  faced  the  foe.  Meantime  his  artillery  ploughed 
the  dense  masses  of  the  British  as  they  poured  to  the  chase.  The 
gallant  front  thus  presented  soon  checked  the  ardor  of  the  pursuit. 
Shortly  after,  Pulaski,  borrowing  the  thirty  life-guards  of  Wash- 
ington, plunged  headlong  into  the  enemy's  ranks,  carrying  terror 
and  confusion  wherever  he  went,  and  effectually  stopping  the 
advance.  The  army,  in  the  end,  retired  safely  to  Chester.  Wayne, 
too,  partook  in  the  defeat,  for  Knyphausen,  seizing  the  favorable 
moment  when  he  knew  the  Americans  to  be  engaged  with  Cornwal- 
lis,  crossed  the  Brandywine  with  all  his  force,  on  which  Wayne 
abandoned  his  position,  though  not  till  he  had  learned  the  defeat  of 
Sullivan,  and  the  uselessness  of  further  resistance. 

The  numbers  of  the  two  armies  were  very  disproportionate  in  this 
battle,  but  not  less  so  than  their  equipments,  discipline  and  weapons. 
The  British  brought  eighteen  thousand  rank  and  file  into  the  field ;  the 
Americans  mustered  only  about  eleven  thousand  able-bodied  men. 
But  this  was  the  least  part  of  the  disparity  between  the  combatants. 
The  British  were  trained  veterans ;  the  Americans  only  raw  levies. 
The  muskets  of  the  British  were  all  of  similar  bore,  to  which  the 


352  THE    HEROES    OP    THE    REVOLUTION. 

cartridges  fitted  exactly,  so  that  the  ball  flew  with  certain  aim ;  the 
guns  of  the  Americans  were  of  every  description,  and  consequently 
threw  their  shot  wide  of  the  mark.  Yet,  notwithstanding  their  dis- 
advantages, the  Americans  generally  fought  with  the  most  desperate 
courage,  the  Virginia  and  Pennsylvania  regiments  particularly  dis- 
tinguishing themselves.  It  has  heen  asked  why  Washington,  on 
learning  the  circuitous  route  taken  by  Cornwallis,  did  not  precipitate 
his  whole  force  on  Knyphausen,  and  crush  that  officer  before  aid 
could  come  up.  But  it  must  be  remembered  that  the  German  Gen- 
eral had  five  thousand  men,  and  held  a  strong  position  on  the  rise 
of  a  wooded  hill,  so  that,  it  is  extremely  doubtful  whether  Washing- 
ton, with  his  raw  soldiers,  could  have  dislodged  him  very  easily. 
The  Americans  would  have  had  to  ford  the  stream  in  face  of  a 
driving  shower  from  artillery,  arid  charge  up  hill  along  a  narrow 
road,  where  odds  would  have  been  of  comparatively  little  avail. 
No  person  who  has  visited  the  battle-field  can,  for  a  moment,  sup- 
pose that  Washington  would  have  succeeded  before  Knyphausen 
could  have  been  succored.  The  nature  of  the  ground,  as  well  as 
the  character  of  his  forces  alike  forbade  it.  Besides,  Washington 
was  fighting  to  prevent  the  enemy  reaching  Philadelphia,  and  if  he 
had  abandoned  the  right  bank  of  the  Brandywine  without  a  struggle, 
even  the  defeat  of  Knyphausen  would  have  failed  to  excuse  him  in 
the  eyes  of  Congress  and  the  people.  In  short,  any  opinion  on 
Washington's  conduct  is  fallacious,  which  does  not  take  into  con- 
sideration the  means  at  his  disposal.  What  he  might  have  done 
with  veterans,  is  quite  another  question  from  what  it  was  safe  to 
undertake  with  raw  levies.  After  Baron  Steuben  introduced  the 
exact  and  rigid  discipline  of  Prussia  into  our  army,  Washington  was 
able  to  face  the  veterans  of  England  on  equal  terms ;  but  to  have 
risked  an  assault  at  Brandywine,  would  probably  have  been  the 
ruin  of  his  army. 

The  remissness  of  Sullivan,  in  watching  the  fords,  afforded  his 
enemies  an  opportunity  to  assail  his  reputation  more  virulently  than 
ever.  Congress,  lending  an  ear  to  the  accusations,  voted  to  suspend 
him  until  a  court  of  inquiry  should  sit  on  his  conduct ;  but  Wash- 
ington remonstrating  against  this  decision,  and  declaring  he  could 
not  face  the  enemy  if  his  Generals  were  taken  from  him,  the  resolu- 
tion was  rescinded.  Still,  it  is  clear  that  Sullivan  was  in  fault,  though 
not  perhaps  to  an  extent  warranting  a  court  martial.  We  cannot 
see,  however,  with  some  writers,  that  Washington  shared  this  error. 
The  duty  in  which  Sullivan  failed  was  an  executive  one :  he  was 
told  to  watch  the  fords,  and  failed  to  do  so.  It  was  Washington's 
duty  to  direct  this  precaution,  and  this  he  faithfully  executed  j  it  was 


JOHX    SULLIVAN.  353 

Sullivan's  duty  to  take  the  precaution,  and  this  he  only  partially 
did.  The  blunders  committed  by  Washington  in  this  battle,  if  any, 
were  in  consequence  of  false  intelligence,  received  from  an  inferior, 
on  whose  accuracy  he  relied.  It  would  be  as  unjust  to  condemn 
Washington  for  Sullivan's  remissness,  as  to  blame  Napoleon  because 
Grouchy  did  not  come  up  at  Waterloo. 

The  battle  of  Germantown  followed,  on  the  4th  of  October,  three 
weeks  after  the  battle  of  Brandywine.  In  this  action  Sullivan  com- 
manded the  American  right.  He  drove  in  the  enemy's  outposts, 
and  pursued  them  about  two  miles,  to  the  centre  of  the  vil- 
lage ;  but  here  a  sudden  panic  seized  his  men,  and  notwithstanding 
every  effort  on  his  part,  they  turned  and  fled.  This  battle  also  was 
lost  in  consequence  of  the  want  of  discipline  on  the  part  of  the 
Americans.  This  becomes  apparent  when  the  plan  of  the  attack  is 
understood.  The  British  lay  in  the  centre  of  the  village,  and  at 
right  angles  with  the  principal  street.  The  attack  was  to  be  made 
in  two  columns,  one  directed  against  the  enemy's  right,  the  other 
against  his  left.  Simultaneously  he  was  to  be  assailed  in  rear  from 
both  flanks,  and  for  this  purpose  two  bodies  of  militia  were 
despatched  to  turn  his  right  and  left  respectively.  The  columns  in 
front  drove  in  the  outposts,  and  pursued  them  to  the  main  body, 
where  the  steady  aspect  of  the  British  checked  the  advance  of  the 
victors.  After  a  halt  of  a  few  minutes,  each  of  these  columns, 
without  any  communication  with  the  other,  but  panic-struck,  in  part 
by  their  own  temerity,  in  part  by  mistaking  each  other  in  the  fog  for 
the  enemy,  began  to  retire.  The  enemy,  simultaneously  recovering 
from  his  fright,  advanced,  and  the  retreat  soon  changed  into  an 
almost  disorderly  flight.  A  fortunate  thought  on  the  part  of  Wayne 
alone  saved  the  army.  Hastily  opening  a  battery  at  the  White 
Marsh  Church,  after  the  pursuit  had  continued  seven  miles,  he 
checked  the  British,  and  covered  the  retreat  in  the  same  way  that 
Greene  had  done  at  Brandywine.  It  has  been  supposed  that  a  halt, 
made  by  a  part  of  the  reserve  at  Chew's  House,  produced  the  defeat. 
This  is  a  mistake.  It  is  probable  that  this  accident  contributed  to 
hasten  the  repulse  ;  but  it  was  impossible  for  the  Americans  to  have 
routed  their  enemy.  The  panic  in  Sullivan's  division  arose,  in  fact, 
from  a  false  impression  that  the  outposts  were  the  main  body,  so 
that,  when  fresh  troops  appeared  drawn  up  at  the  centre  of  the  vil- 
lage, consternation  seized  the  men.  The  victory,  up  to  that  point,  had 
been  altogether  delusive.  In  a  word, the  battle  of  Germantown  was  lost 
in  consequence  of  the  undisciplined  condition  of  the  American  army. 

In  the  ensuing  winter  Sullivan  was  despatched  to  take  command 
of  the  troops  in  Rhode  Island.     In  August,  1778,  he  laid  siege  to 
45  EE* 


354  THE    HEROES    OF    THE    REVOLUTION. 

Newport,  and  was  on  the  very  point  of  success  when  the  French 
Admiral,  d'Estaing,  who  was  co-operating  with  him,  abandoned  the 
siege  to  join  combat  with  a  British  fleet  off  the  harbor,  and  being 
shattered  in  a  gale,  repaired  to  Boston  to  refit.  Sullivan  keenly  felt 
this  desertion.  He  was  extremely  eager  for  popularity,  and  having 
always  been  unfortunate,  was  the  more  desirous  to  succeed  on  the 
present  occasion.  Hence,  when  he  found  all  his  persuasions  could 
not  induce  d'Estaing  to  remain,  he  allowed  his  indignation  to  break 
out  in  a  reflection  on  his  ally,  contained  in  the  general  orders.  An 
open  rupture  between  Sullivan  and  the  Admiral  threatened  to  follow 
this  indiscretion;  but,  through  the  influence  of  LaFayette,  the 
breach  was  healed  and  amicable  relations  restored.  The  withdrawal 
of  d'Estaing,  however,  compelled  the  American  General  to  retreat, 
which  he  did  in  the  most  masterly  manner,  without  the  loss  of  a 
single  article.  The  next  year  he  commanded  the  famous  expedition 
against  the  Six  Nations,  a  description  of  which  has  already  been 
given  in  the  memoir  of  General  James  Clinton.  He  now  determined 
to  retire  from  the  army.  His  failing  health,  and  his  pecuniary  cir- 
cumstances, were  the  ostensible  reasons  for  this  resolution,  though 
it  may  have  been  secretly  assisted  by  the  disgust,  natural  to  an 
honorable  mind,  at  finding  its  honest  efforts  misrepresented,  and 
calumniation  returned  for  all  its  sacrifices.  For  a  large  and  bitter 
faction,  composed  partly  of  personal  enemies  created  by  his  irritable 
temper,  and  partly -by  the  remnants  of  the  Conway  cabal,  which 
strove  to  strike  at  Washington  through  his  friends,  still  pursued  Sullivan 
with  unrelenting  hostility.  Congress  coldly  accepted  his  resignation. 

He  now  returned  to  the  practice  of  the  law.  In  1780  he  was 
elected  to  Congress,  but  served  only  one  term.  In  1786,  1787,  and 
1789,  he  was  President  of  New  Hampshire  ;  and  rendered  himself 
conspicuous  in  quelling  the  spirit  of  revolt,  which  was  visible  there 
at  the  period  of  Shay's  rebellion  in  Massachusetts.  On  the  adoption 
of  the  federal  constitution,  and  Washington's  elevation  to  the  Presi- 
dency, Sullivan  was  appointed  the  District  Judge  for  New  Hamp- 
shire. He  continued  in  this  office  until  his  death,  which  occurred 
on  the  22nd  of  January,  1795. 

Sullivan  was  a  General  of  respectable  talents.  He  had  not  the 
comprehensive  mind  of  Greene,  nor  the  headlong  fury  of  Putnam; 
he  was  neither  a  great  stategist,  nor  a  splendid  executive  officer. 
But,  among  second-rate  men,  he  held  a  first-rate  position.  He  was 
more  unfortunate  than  he  deserved.  It  is  enough  to  say,  in  conclu- 
sion, that  Washington  always  estimated  his  military  talents  favora- 
bly, and  that  the  men  who  at  first  assailed  his  abilities  lived  to  recant 
their  opinions. 


HENRY    KNOX. 


[HE  man,  who,  of  all  others,  perhaps, 
'was  best  beloved  of  Washington,  was 
Henry  Knox,  commander  of  the  artillery 
in  the  American  army.  The  intellectual 
qualities  of  Knox,  though  not  brilliant, 
sound ;  but  it  was  his  moral  ones 
that  were  pre-eminently  deserving  of 
esteem,  and  in  consideration  of  which, 
Washington  bestowed  on  him  the  love  and  confidence  of  a  brother. 
In  every  action  where  Washington  appeared  in  person,  Knox  at- 
tended him ;  in  every  council  of  war,  Knox  bore  a  part.  One  or  two 
mistakes  in  judgment,  he  committed  during  his  military  career,  as 
at  Germantown,  where  he  was  the  cause  of  the  delay  at  Chew's 
mansion ;  but  these  were  amply  redeemed  by  his  advice  on  other 
occasions,  as  at  the  battle  of  Assunpink,  where,  with  Greene,  he 
recommended  the  bold  movement  on  the  communications  of  Corn- 
wallis,  which  victoriously  terminated  the  campaign.  His  services  at 

355 


356  THE  HEROES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 

the  head  of  the  ordnance  were  invaluable.  He  assumed  command 
of  that  branch  of  the  army  in  the  first  year  of  the  war,  and  continued 
at  its  head  until  the  close  of  the  contest.  At  the  battle  of  Monmouth, 
the  manner  in  which  he  handled  his  guns  awakened  the  admiration 
of  the  enemy,  and  in  fact  contributed,  more  perhaps  than  anything 
else,  to  repel  this  last  desperate  assault.  Greene  had  so  high  an 
opinion  ofKnox  that,  when  Washington  offered  to  the  former  the  com- 
mand of  the  southern  army,  he  proposed  Kriox  in  his  stead ;  but  the 
American  chief,  with  a  better  knowledge  of  the  men,  made  an  eva- 
sive reply  and  pressed  the  post  on  Greene ;  for  Knox,  though  a  good 
executive  officer,  and  possessed  of  an  admirable  judgment,  was  not 
equal  to  Greene  in  patient  endurance,  in  far-sighted  views,  in  ex- 
haustless  resources :  indeed  no  man  except  Washington  was. 

Knox  was  a  native  of  Boston,  in  which  town  he  was  born,  on  the 
25th  of  July,  1750.  Prior  to  the  war  of  independence,  he  followed, 
for  a  time,  the  occupation  of  a  book-seller.  He  early  displayed  a 
taste  for  military  affairs,  and  in  1774  was  chosen  an  officer  in  one 
of  the  volunteer  companies  which,  about  that  period,  sprung  up  in 
such  numbers,  in  vague  anticipation  of  a  war.  He  soon  became 
distinguished  among  his  fellow  soldiers  for  his  knowledge  of  tactics, 
for  his  strict  discipline,  for  his  industry,  energy  and  resources.  He 
was  particularly  remarkable  for  the  attention  he  paid  to  the  artillery 
service,  a  branch  of  military  science  for  which  he  always  shewed  a 
predilection,  and  in  which  he  was  destined  peculiarly  to  distinguish 
himself.  His  first  connexion  with  this  department  occurred  imme- 
diately after  the  battle  of  Lexington.  Knox  had  not  been  engaged 
in  that  struggle,  but  a  few  days  subsequent  to  it,  he  made  his  escape 
from  Boston,  and  joining  his  countrymen  in  arms  at  Cambridge, 
offered  to  undertake  the  arduous  task  of  transporting  from  Ticonde- 
roga  and  Canada,  the  heavy  ordnance  and  military  stores  captured 
there  by  the  Americans.  The  energetic  spirit  of  the  young  man,  and 
the  handsome  manner  in  which  he  executed  a  task,  abounding  with 
what  some  would  have  considered  impossibilities,  attracted  the  es- 
pecial notice  of  Washington,  and  Knox,  in  consequence,  was  rewarded 
with  the  command  of  this  very  artillery,  most  of  which  he  employed, 
with  good  service,  in  the  siege  of  Boston.  He  owed  his  advance- 
ment, in  part  also,  to  his  superior  knowledge  of  the  department,  there 
being,  at  that  period,  few  persons  in  America  competent  for  the  office. 
Thus,  at  the  age  of  twenty -five,  he  found  himself  occupying  one  of 
the  most  responsible  positions  in  the  army. 

From  this  period,  Knox  remained  with  Washington,  taking  part 
in  all  the  principal  battles  fought  by  that  General.  Occupying  a 


HENRY    KNOX.  357 

subordinate  position,  however,  he  had  few  opportunities  of  especial 
distinction  ;  but  when  these  arose,  he  always  acquitted  himself  with 
honor.  The  confidence  which  Washington  reposed  in  him,  was  a 
source  of  jealousy  to  others  of  the  officers,  and,  to  a  certain  extent,  ' 
in  consequence,  'the  abilities  of  Knox  have  been  depreciated  by  the 
voice  of  envy.  A  favorite  charge  against  him  is  that  he  advised  the 
unfortunate  delay  at  Chew's  mansion,  during  the  battle  of  German- 
town,  which  is  thought  to  have  assisted  in  producing  defeat  on  that 
occasion ;  but,  in  justice  to  Knox,  it  must  be  Remembered  that  though 
the  halt  was  made  at  his  suggestion,  others  shared  in  the  responsi- 
bility ;  and,  moreover,  the  leaving  a  garrisoned  house,  or  other  fort, 
in  the  rear  of  an  advancing  army  was,  at  that  period,  and  indeed 
until  Napoleon  changed  the  whole  art  of  war,  regarded  as  a  fatal 
error. 

The  life  of  Knox,  after  the  close  of  the  war,  was  comparatively 
uneventful.  On  the  resignation  of  Major-General  Lincoln,  as  Secre- 
tary of  War,  under  the  old  confederation,  Knox  was  appointed  to 
supply  his  place;  and  in  1789,  on  the  organization  of  the  present 
federal  government,  he  was  selected  by  Washington  for  the  same 
high  and  honorable  office.  In  1794  he  retired  from  this  post  of 
dignity,  and  settled,  with  his  family,  at  Thomaston,  in  Maine,  where 
his  wife,  a  descendant  of  General  Waldo,  possessed  large  tracts  of 
land.  He  sat  at  the  council  board  of  Massachusetts  for  some  years, 
Maine,  at  that  period,  being  a  dependency  of  the  former  state.  In 
both  private  and  public  life  he  bore  an  unimpeachable  character. 
Mild,  generous,  the  soul  of  honor,  charitable  to  the  poor,  to  his 
equals  affable,  few  men,  of  that  or  any  succeeding  generation,  have 
been  more  deservedly  esteemed  than  General  Knox.  His  person 
was  remarkably  noble  ;  and  his  manners  were  elegant  and  refined. 
He  was  fond  of  literature,  a  taste,  perhaps,  acquired  in  his  youthful 
profession.  General  Knox  died  suddenly,  on  the  25th  of  October, 
1806,  from  mortification  arising  from  swallowing  a  chicken-bone. 

Knox  was  the  founder  of  the  society  of  Cincinnati.  For  many 
years  he  lived  on  his  estates  in  Maine  in  a  style  of  almost  princely 
magnificence.  It  was  not  an  unusual  thing  for  him  to  make  up  in 
summer  one  hundred  beds  daily  in  his  house,  and  to  kill  an  ox  and 
twenty  sheep  every  Monday  morning.  He  kept  several  pairs  of 
carriage  horses,  and  twenty  saddle  horses,  principally  for  the  use  of 
his  guests.  A  style  of  living  so  expensive  at  last  impaired  his  for- 
tune. He  had  counted  on  almost  boundless  wealth  from  the  sales 
of  his  lands,  but  his  expectations  were  disappointed.  Having  lived 
on  the  most  familiar  terms  with  General  Lincoln,  Colonel  Jackson, 


35S 


THE  HEROES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 


and  other  officers  of  the  Revolution,  when  he  failed  the  two  former 
gentlemen  were  his  endorsers  to  a  large  amount.  An  interview  took 
place  to  see  what  arrangement  could  be  made  to  liquidate  the  debts 
of  Knox.  For  awhile  there  was  profound  silence  ;  then  Knox,  look- 
ing up,  met  the  eye  of  Lincoln,  whose  confidence  he  had  unwittingly 
abused,  and  burst  into  tears.  Lincoln  brushed  his  own  eyes  and 
said,  "  This  will  never  do,  gentlemen,  we  have  come  here  to  transact 
business,"  and  took  up  a  paper.  The  whole  three  lived  together 
like  brothers.  The  anecdote  is  narrated  on  the  authority  of  the 
Honorable  William  Sullivan,  who  was  present,  in  his  professional 
capacity,  at  the  meeting.. 


OB  A  !R"'<B>  V9     STTE  01  IB  E  N, 


A  t 


BARON    STEUBEN 


REDERICK 

William  Au- 
gustus, Bar- 
on Steuben,  a 
Major -Gene- 
ral in  the  con- 
tinental army, 
was  born,  it 
is  believed,  in 
Suabia,  in  the 
year  1730.  He 
served  with 
distinction  in 
the  army  of 
the  great  Fre- 
derick, attained  the  honor  of  Aid-de-camp  to  that  monarch,  and,  at 
the  peace  of  1763,  when  he  retired  from  Prussia,  was  presented  by 
the  King  with  a  canonry  in  the  cathedral  of  Harelburg.  His  military 
talents  were  still  remembered  in  Berlin,  many  years  afterwards;  for 
when  Congress  applied  to  the  different  European  courts  for  a  tran- 
script of  their  military  codes,  the  Prime  Minister  of  Frederick  replied 
that  their  regulations  had  never  been  published,  but  that  the  Baron 

359 


360  THE  HEROES  OP  THE  REVOLUTION. 

Steuben,  who  was  in  America,  could  give  the  necessary  information, 
as  he  was  acquainted  with  the  minutest  details  of  the  Prussian  sys- 
tem. 

On  his  retirement  from  Berlin,  Baron  Steuben  went  to  Hohenzol- 
len-Hechingen,  where  he  was  made  Grand  Marshal  of  the  Court, 
and  appointed  Colonel  of  the  circle  of  Suabia.  In  the  year  1767,  the 
Prince  Margrave  of  Baden  bestowed  on  him  the  title  of  General, 
with  the  chief  command  of  the  troops.  The  income  of  Steuben  now 
amounted  to  about  three  thousand  dollars,  which  was  a  sufficiently 
ample  sum  for  his  rank  so  long  as  he  remained  a  bachelor.  He  had, 
therefore,  no  idea  of  abandoning  his  comparatively  lucrative  em- 
ployments, and  embarking  in  an  uncertain  contest  in  a  distant  land ; 
especially  at  his  advanced  years.  But,  happening  to  visit  Paris,  he 
was  prevailed  on  to  offer  his  services  to  the  American  Congress,  by 
the  solicitations  of  the  French  minister,  who,  although  the  Court  of 
Versailles  had  not  yet  declared  in  favor  of  the  Americans,  desired 
secretly  to  aid  them,  by  sending  over  some  experienced  officer  to 
train  and  discipline  the  troops.  Accordingly,  on  the  26th  of  Septem- 
ber, 1777,  Steuben,  with  his  suite,  set  sail  from  Marsailles,  having 
first  resigned  all  his  employments  in  Europe. 

Dr.  Franklin,  though  anxious  to  secure  the  services  of  the  Baron, 
had  declined  making  any  arrangement  with  Steuben,  his  powers  not 
authorizing  him  to  do  so.  On  his  arrival  in  America,  therefore, 
Steuben  waited  on  Congress  with  his  recommendations,  stating  that 
he«came  to  act  as  a  volunteer  until  it  should  be  seen  whether  his 
assistance  would  be  of  value  or  not ;  that,  if  his  services  proved  no 
acquisition,  he  should  ask  no  compensation ;  but  that,  if  they  were 
beneficial,  he  would  trust  in  the  honor  of  Congress  to  remunerate 
him  for  the  income  he  had  sacrificed  and  give  him  whatever  further 
allowance  might  be  thought  deserved.  These  modest  terms  were 
immediately  acceded  to  by  Congress,  and  Steuben  ordered  to  repair 
to  head-quarters. 

At  this  period  the  Army  was  at  Valley  Forge,  suffering  ah1  the 
horrors  of  an  inclement  winter,  without  proper  food,  shelter  or 
clothing.  Five  thousand  men  were  in  the  hospitals.  Discipline  had 
almost  disappeared  in  the  general  suffering.  Indeed  there  never 
had  been  yet,  in  the  American  army,  that  vigorous  attention  to  this 
subject  which  distinguished  the  camps  of  Europe  ;  and  the  disastrous 
consequences  were  felt  whenever  the  raw  levies  of  Washington  met 
the  trained  veterans  of  Great  Britain  in  the  open  field.  There  was 
no  general  system  of  tactics  employed,  but  the  men  from  each  state 
drilled  differently.  Many  were  ignorant  of  the  manual  exercise ; 


BARON    STEUBEN. 


361 


very  few  understood  field  movements :  and,  to  add  to  the  evil,  the 
officers  were  as  untaught  as  the  common  soldiers.  The  utmost 
carelessness  prevailed  in  the  use  of  arms,  the  discharged  recruits 
frequently  carrying  home  their  equipments,  while  the  new  levies 
always  came  without  weapons,  so  that  it  was  customary  to  allow 
five  thousand  muskets  beyond  the  numbers  of  the  muster  roll,  to 
supply  the  waste.  Washington  had  long  seen  and  regretted  this 
evil.  But  he  had  sought  in  vain  for  a  remedy.  The  arrival  of 
Baron  Steuben,  however,  at  once  relieved  him  of  his  difficulty,  for 
he  saw  that,  in  this  experienced  veteran,  he  had  found  the  very  man 
so  long  desired.  The  Baron  immediately  undertook  the  task  'of 
drilling  the  men,  and  inspecting  their  weapons.  He  trained  a  com- 
pany himself  as  a  beginning..  After  partially  instructing  the  officers 
as  well  as  the  privates,  for  a  considerable  time,  he  began  to  reap  the 
fruits  of  his  exertions.  The  army  assumed  coherence.  The  troops 
manoeuvred  with  the  precision  of  veterans.  There  was  no  longer 
any  waste  of  arms  and  ammunition.  But  this  reform  was  not 


BABON  STEUBKX  DRILLIXG  THK  AMERICAN  ARMY. 


brought  about  until  after  great  perseverence  and  much  vexation  on 
the  part  of  the  Baron.     His  almost  entire  ignorance  of  our  language, 
his  impetuous  temper,  and  the  blunders  of  the  troops,  frequently 
46  FF 


362  THE    HEROES    OP    THE    REVOLUTION 

conspired  to  produce  the  most  ludicrous  scenes.  On  one  of  these 
occasions,  after  exhausting  all  the  execrations  he  could  think  of  in 
German  and  French,  he  called  despairingly  to  one  of  his  Aids, 
"  Venez,  Walker,  mon  ami !  Sacre,  de  gaucherie  of  dese  badants, 
je  ne  puis  plus.  I  can  curse  dem  no  more." 

The  Baron  had  been  in  the  camp  but  a  short  time  when  Wash- 
ington wrote  to  Congress.  "  I  should  do  injustice,  if  I  were  to  be  longer 
silent  with  regard  to  the  merits  of  Baron  Steuben.  His  expectations 
with  respect  to  rank  extend  to  that  of  Major-General.  His  finances, 
he  ingenuously  confesses,  will  not  admit  of  his  serving  without  the 
incidental  emoluments  ;  and  Congress,  I  presume,  from  his  character, 
and  their  own  knowledge  of  him,  will  without  difficulty  gratify  him 
in  these  particulars."  On  the  5th  of  .May,  1778,  Steuben  was,  ac- 
cordingly, appointed  Inspector-General,  with  the  rank  and  pay  of  a 
Major-General.  The  department  of  inspection  was  now  arranged 
on  a  permanent  footing,  and  thoroughly  systematized.  The  Baron, 
finding  the  European  military  systems  too  complicated,  varied  them 
so  as  to  be  adapted  to  the  condition  and  character  of  the  American 
army;  and,  in  1779,  he  published,  at  the  request  of  Congress,  a  work 
on  discipline  and  inspection,  which  continued,  until  after  the  close 
of  the  century,  to  be  the  standard  in  most  of  the  states.  It  was 
owing  in  a  great  measure  to  the  instructions  of  the  Baron  that  the 
American  troops  acquitted  themselves  at  Monmouth  so  much  like 
veterans.  He  was  justly  proud  of  his  own  services  and  of  the 
proficiency  of  his  pupils.  He  wrote,  on  a  subsequent  occasion, 
"Though  we  are  so  young  that  we  scarce  begin  to  walk,  we  have 
already  taken  Stony  Point  and  Paulus  Hook,  at  the  point  of  the 
bayonet  and  without  firing  a  single  shot."  Perhaps  the  advantages 
of  discipline  were  never  exhibited  so  strikingly  as  in  the  superior 
efficacy  of  the  American  soldiers  after  Steuben's  arrival  in  this 
country.  He  found  the  troops  raw  militia  :  he  made  them  resolute 
veterans.  On  his  arrival,  Washington,  from  necessity,  was  still 
fighting  with  the  pickaxe  and  the  spade ;  but  within  a  year  Steuben 
had  rendered  the  men  fit  to  cope  in  the  open  field,  even  with  the 
renowned  grenadiers  of  Cornwallis.  The  magic  wand  by  which  he 
did  this  was  discipline. 

In  July  1778,  the  Baron  became  desirous  of  exchanging  his  post 
as  Inspector-General  for  a  command  of  equal  honor  in  the  regular 
line.  Hitherto,  in  consequence  of  his  being  attached  to  a  distinct 
department,  his  rank  as  Major-General  had  not  interfered  with  the 
claims  of  any  one  ;  but,  if  his  request  had  been  granted,  the  promo- 
tion of  all  the  Brigadiers  in  succession  would  have  had  to  be  post- 


BARON    STEUBEN.  363 

poned.  Congress  accordingly,  at  Washington's  suggestion,  declined 
acceding  to  this  desire.  At  the  same  time,  however,  that  body 
confirmed  Steuben's  absolute  authority  in  the  department  of  Inspec- 
tor-General, in  opposition  to  the  claims  of  the  Inspector-General  in 
the  army  of  Gates,  who  asserted  his  independence  of  Steuben.  The 
Baron,  perhaps,  recognized  the  justice  of  the  refusal,  for  he  never 
renewed  the  request.  He  was,  however,  occasionally  indulged  in  a 
separate  command  whenever  circumstances  would  allow  it.  In  1 780 
he  was  sent  to  join  the  army  of  Greene,  but  remained  in  Virginia  to 
prepare  and  forward  recruits.  The  invasion  of  Cornwallis  found  him 
thus  engaged,  and  he  had  the  satisfaction,  after  joining  his  forces  to 
those  of  LaFayette,  to  follow  up  the  fugitive  General,  and  command 
in  the  trenches  at  Yorktown  on  the  day  when  a  capitulation  was 
proposed,  a  post  of  honor  which  he  maintained,  in  accordance  with 
the  usages  of  European  warfare,  until  the  British  flag  was  struck. 

After  the  peace,  the  Baron  was  reduced  to  comparative  want.  In 
vain  he  applied  to  Congress  to  remunerate  him  for  what  he  had 
sacrificed  in  its  behalf:  for  while  the  propriety  of  his  claim  was 
admitted,  no  active  measures  were  taken  to  liquidate  it.  For  seven 
years  he  fruitlessly  petitioned  the  nation  for  justice.  At  last,  on  the 
adoption  of  the  federal  constitution,  an  act  was  passed  by  Congress 
to  give  him  an  annuity  of  twenty-five  hundred  dollars.  Meantime, 
however,  Virginia  and  New  Jersey  had  each  presented  him  with  a 
small  gift  of  land ;  and  New  York  had  voted  him  sixteen  thousand 
acres  in  the  Oneida  tract.  But  he  did  not  live  many  years  to  enjoy  it. 
On  the  25th  of  November,  1794,  he  was  struck  with  paralysis  and 
died  three  days  afterwards.  He  was  buried  in  the  forest,  on  his 
farm,  not  far  from  Utica.  Subsequently,  a  road  having  been  laid 
out  to  run  over  his  grave,  his  remains  were  taken  up  and  re-interred 
at  a  little  distance,  where  a  monument  was  erected  over  the  ashes. 

Steuben  was  of  incalculable  service  to  the  American  cause  by 
introducing  the  European  discipline  into  the  army.  He  made  an 
excellent  General  for  regulars,  but  could  not  manage  militia  with 
any  success.  In  disposition  he  was  affectionate,  generous  and  warm- 
hearted. He  had,  in  many  things,  the  simplicity  of  a  child.  His 
temper  was  quick,  but  he  was  always  ready  to  make  amends  for 
injustice.  On  one  occasion  he  had  arrested  an  officer  for  throwing 
the  line  into  disorder,  but,  finding  him  innocent,  he  apologized,  the 
next  day,  at  the  head  of  the  regiment,  his  hat  off,  and  the  rain  pour- 
ing on  his  silvery  head.  In  Virginia  he  sold  his  camp  equipage  to 
give  a  dinner  to  the  French  officers,  declaring  that  he  would  keep 
up  the  credit  of  the  army  even  if  he  had  to  eat  from  a  wooden  spoon 


364 


THE  HEROES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 


for  the  rest  of  his  life.  When  the  troops  were  being  disbanded,  and 
he  had  the  cheerless  prospect  of  a  pennyless  old  age  before  him,  he 
gave  almost  his  last  dollar  to  a  brother  officer  with  a  family,  who 
was  too  poor  to  return  home.  Cheerful  in  the  gloomiest  affairs, 
generous  to  a  fault,  a  little  vain  of  his  rank,  a  warm  friend,  a  hearty 
enemy  to  meanness  :  such  was  Baron  Steuben.  May  his  name  be 
long  held  in  remembrance  by  that  country  for  which  he  sacrificed 
so  much ! 


CHARLES    LEE. 


HARLES  LEE,  a  Major-General 
in  the  American  army,  was  one  of 
'  those  erratic  men  in  whom  passion 
:  triumphs  over  reason,  and  preju- 
dice frequently  over  both.  He 
possessed  unquestionable  ability,  but,  exercising  no 
^control  over  his  temper,  was  always  dangerous  to 
himself  and  others.  An  Englishman  by  birth  he 
became  a  Republican  from  whim ;  ambition  rather 
than  patriotism  led  him  to  embark  in  the  American 
cause  ;  impatient  of  control  he  aspired  after  a  sepa- 
rate, if  not  the  supreme  command;  haughty  and 
irascible,  he  invited  a  trial  of  popularity  between 
Washington  and  himself,  and  was  punished,  for  his 
extravagant  self-conceit,  by  the  loss  of  public  confi- 
dence :  in  short,  he  was  a  man  whose  whole  life  presented  a  series 
of  blunders,  and  who,  beginning  with  every  advantage  on  his  side, 
finished,  through  his  own  folly,  in  disappointment,  obscurity  and 
disgrace  !  His  violent  passions  were  the  ruin  of  the  once  celebrated 
Charles  Lee. 

FF*  365 


366  THE  HEROES  OP  THE  REVOLUTION. 

Charles  Lee  was  the  son  of  General  John  Lee,  of  Dernhall,  in 
Cheshire,  England ;  and  was  born  in  1731.  He  was  naturally  of 
quick  parts  and  made  rapid  advances  in  education.  At  eleven  years 
of  age  he  received  a  commission  in  the  army.  His  first  experience 
in  the  field,  however,  was  during  the  old  French  war.  He  came  to 
America  in  1757,  shortly  after  having  purchased  a  Captaincy  in  the 
twenty-fourth  regiment  of  infantry ;  and,  at  the  memorable  assault 
on  Ticonderoga,  was  wounded  while  attempting  to  penetrate  the 
French  breastworks.  He  recovered  in  time  for  the  ensuing  cam- 
paign, and  was  one  of  the  expedition  against  Fort  Niagara.  After 
the  defeat  of  the  enemy,  Lee,  with  a  small  party,  was  sent  to  dis- 
cover what  became  of  the  remnant  of  the  army ;  and  it  was  these 
troops  which  were  the  first  English  ones  that  crossed  Lake  Erie  : 
he  passed  down  the  western  branch  of  the  Ohio  to  Fort  Pitt,  and,  in 
his  return,  marched  seven  hundred  miles  across  the  country  to  Crown 
Point.  In  1760,  Lee  was  with  the  expedition  that  captured  Mon- 
treal. After  the  close  of  the  war  in  America  he  returned  to  England, 
and  soon  after,  being  promoted  to  a  Lieutenant-Colonelcy,  was  sent 
out  to  Portugal,  with  the  forces  destined  to  aid  that  ancient  ally  of 
England  in  her  contest  with  Spain.  Here  he  acquitted  himself  with 
gallantry,  especially  in  a  night  assault  on  the  Spanish  forces,  which 
drew  down  encomiums  from  all  parties.  The  strife  ended  in  a  single 
campaign,  and  Lee  returned  to  England. 

Lee,  from  the  period  of  his  service  in  America,  had  always  taken 
a  lively  interest  in  its  affairs :  and  he  now  drew  up  a  plan,  and  sub- 
mitted it  to  the  ministry,  for  colonizing  the  country  on  the  Ohio  be- 
low the  Wabash,  and  in  Illinois.  The  ministry  rejected  his  plan. 
Soon  after  the  difficulties  between  the  mother  country  and  the  colo- 
nies began  ;  and  Lee,  guided  probably  as  much  by  personal  dislike 
as  by  his  political  tendencies,  embarked  in  the  controversy  against 
England.  His  active  and  restless  spirit  having  no  longer  the  stimu- 
los  of  war  to  feed  its  love  of  excitement,  he  plunged  into  the  tur- 
moil of  politics  and  soon  proved  himself  possessed  of  a  ready  pen. 
His  wit  was  scorching,  his  invective  bitter,  his  boldness  as  a  writer 
captivating  to  the  popular  taste.  In  the  midst  of  this  dispute,  the 
threat  of  a  war  in  Poland  arrested  his  attention :  the  love  of  glory, 
the  thirst  of  rank,  and  a  chivalrous  sentiment  in  favor  of  that  ancient 
and  abused  nation,  determined  him  to  offer  her  his  services.  He 
went  in  the  true  spirit  of  a  knight-errant  and  was  received  favorably 
by  Stanislaus,  who  had  just  been  elected  King.  He  remained  two 
years  in  Poland,  but  as  hostilities  did  not  break  out,  he  became  dis- 
satisfied with  inaction,  and  from  mere  restlessness  accompanied  the 


CHARLES    LEE.  367 

Polish  embassy  to  Constantinople.  Abandoning  the  mission,  in  order 
to  advance  with  more  celerity,  he  came  near  perishing  of  cold  and 
hunger  on  the  Bulgarian  mountains.  At  the  close  of  1766  he  re- 
turned to  England,  with  a  letter  of  recommendation  to  the  King, 
and  solicited  promotion :  but,  though  many  promises  were  made 
him,  they  were  never  fulfilled,  his  former  violent  invectives,  and  a 
letter  attacking  General  Townsend  and  Lord  Sackville,  attributed 
to  him,  preventing  any  favors  from  the  ministry.  Lee,  at  last, 
finding  he  had  been  trifled  with,  and  that  he  possessed  no  chance 
of  promotion  in  England,  gave  way  to  a  violent  resentment  against 
the  King  personally  and  the  party  in  power.  This  hostility  remained 
with  him  to  his  grave.  During  his  visit  to  his  native  country,  he  con- 
tinued in  intimate  correspondence  with  King  Stanislaus,  and  finally  in 
December,  1768,  leaving  London  on  a  visit  to  the  south  of  France,  met 
Prince  Czartorinsky  in  Paris,  and  was  induced  to  accompany  him  to 
Warsaw.  Here  the  King  received  him  as  a  brother,  and  made  him 
a  Major-General.  The  purpose  of  Lee  in  returning  to  Poland  was  to 
enter  the  Russian  service :  but  he  could  not  forget  the  animosities 
he  bore  against  the  government  at  home.  In  one  of  his  letters  to  a 
friend  in  England,  after  saying  how  unpopular  his  native  country 
was  in  Poland,  he  says:  "A  French  comedian  was  the  other  day 
near  being  hanged,  from  the  circumstance  of  his  wearing  a  bob-wig, 
which,  by  the  confederates,  is  supposed  to  be  the  uniform  of  the 
English  nation.  /  wish  to  God  the  three  branches  of  our  Legisla- 
ture would  take  it  into  their  heads  to  travel  through  the  woods  of 
Poland  in  bob-wigs"  This  little  stroke  of  wit  shews,  at  once,  his 
bitter  animosity  and  his  fatal  ability  in  expressing  it.  It  goes  far 
towards  unravelling  the  riddle  of  his  failure  in  life. 

In  1769  he  joined  the  Russian  army  on  the  Neister,  and  served 
during  that  year's  campaign.  As  usual,  he  abused  the  superior 
officers.  A  severe  rheumatism  attacking  him  he  visited  Vienna  and 
afterwards  Italy,  everywhere  mingling  in  the  highest  society.  In 
1770  he  returned  again  to  England.  Here  he  plunged  once  more 
into  the  angry  sea  of  political  strife ;  and  the  man  who  had  been 
the  friend  of  kings,  became  the  asserter  of  republican  principles. 
His  reputation  as  a  writer  has  procured  for  him,  since  his  death,  the 
credit  with  some  persons,  of  being  the  author  of  Junius ;  but  it  is 
sufficient  to  say  that  the  evidence  in  favor  of  this  claim  is  entirely 
insufficient,  and  that  to  Sir  Philip  Francis  more  justly  belongs  that 
honor.  In  1773,  in  anticipation  of  a  war,  he  sailed  for  America, 
and  on  his  arrival,  made  no  secret  of  his  intention  to  reside  in 
New  York.  The  zeal  he  displayed  in  the  cause  of  the  colonies,  his 


368  THE    HEROES    OF    THE    REVOLUTION. 

eloquent  declamation,  and  the  romance  that  hung  about  a  man  who 
had  offered  his  sword  to  Poland,  and  crossed  blades  with  the  Ottoman, 
soon  won  him  the  hearts  of  the  people,  as  well  as  the  confidence  of 
the  leaders,  and  opened  to  his  ambitious  soul  the  prospect  of  a  daz- 
zling career.  He  had  formerly  been  intimate  with  General  Gage, 
but  did  not  now  call  on  that  officer,  or  pay  him  any  tokens  of  re- 
spect :  a  course  of  conduct  which  he  defended  in  a  public  letter, 
complimentary  to  Gage  as  a  man,  but  not  as  a  patriot.  A  somewhat 
similar  letter,  in  which  the  controversy  between  the  colonies  and  the 
mother  country  was  examined,  he  wrote  to  Lord  Percy.  After  tra- 
velling through  the  middle,  and  subsequently  the  eastern  provinces, 
Lee  returned  to  Philadelphia  in  time  for  the  session  of  the  first  Con- 
gress. Here  he  became  acquainted  with  the  members,  and  paved 
the  way  for  the  future  confidence  they  reposed  in  him.  A  well 
timed  pamphlet  assisted  him  in  this.  Dr.  Myles  Cooper,  of  New 
York,  an  Episcopal  clergymen,  a  very  excellent  divine  but  altogether 
a  pretender  in  politics,  wrote  what  he  called,  "  A  Friendly  Address 
to  all  Reasonable  Americans,"  in  which  he  argued,  in  effect,  for  pas- 
sive obedience,  and  undertook  to  terrify  the  colonists  with  the  formi- 
dable armies  of  Great  Britain.  This  foolish  affair  falling  in  Lee's 
way,  he  attacked  it  with  such  logic  tand  declamation,  as  hooted  it  at 
once  into  disgrace,  and  elevated  Lee  even  higher  than  before,  in  the 
esteem  of  the  country.  In  consequence,  when  the  army  came  to  be 
formed  in  the  succeeding  year,  he  was  elevated  to  the  rank  of  second 
Major-General,  and  would  have  been  made  first,  but  that  Congress 
could  not  avoid  giving  that  rank  to  General  Ward,  whom  they  had 
displaced  from  the  post  of  Commander-in-chief,  by  the  election  of 
Washington.  The  resignation  of  Ward  soon  made  Lee  second  in 
command.  It  is  probable  he  had,  at  one  time,  entertained  hopes  of 
being  placed  at  the  head  of  the  army,  but  to  this  his  foreign  birth 
presented  an  insuperable  objection.  He  acquiesced  for  a  time,  how- 
ever, generously,  if  not  candidly,  in  the  decision. 

Before  accepting  this  commission,  Lee  resigned  the  one  he  held 
in  the  British  army,  but  characteristically  observed  that  whenever  his 
majesty  should  call  on  him  to  fight  against  the  enemies  of  his  coun- 
try, or  in  defence  of  his  just  rights  and  dignity,  no  man  would  obey 
the  summons  with  more  alacrity.  By  thus  declaring  himself  on  the 
American  side,  he  jeopardized  an  income  of  nearly  one  thousand 
pounds,  besides  other  property,  which  it  was  in  the  power  of  the 
King  to  confiscate,  nor  did  he  make  any  stipulation  with  Congress  to 
be  indemnified,  though  that  body,  not  to  be  outdone  in  generosity, 
resolved,  as  recorded  on  the  secret  journal,  that  Lee  should  be  remu- 


CHARLES    LEE.  369 

nerated  for  any  loss  he  might  sustain  in  the  service.  On  arriving  at 
Cambridge,  General  Lee  was  assigned  the  command  of  the  left  wing 
of  the  army,  and  was  received  with  a  respect  second  only  to  that 
awarded  to  Washington.  His  experience  in  military  affairs  was  of 
the  most  essential  service  to  the  cause  at  this  period.  The  high  esti- 
mation in  which  he  stood,  as  well  as  his  elevated  rank,  induced  the 
Commander-in-chief  to  send  him  to  take  command  of  New  York,  on 
the  rumor  of  an  expedition  by  Clinton  against  that  place.  He  de- 
sired this  post  particularly,  and  was  especially  indignant  against  the 
tories  who  were  so  numerous  there  :  "  not  to  crush  these  serpents," 
he  said,  "  before  their  rattles  are  grown,  would  be  ruinous." 

The  citizens  of  New  York  were  alarmed  at  the  approach  of  Gene- 
ral Lee,  for  they  feared  his  presence  would  be  a  signal  for  the  Bri- 
tish armed  ships  in  the  harbor  to  fire  on  the  town.  Lee,  however, 
prudently  quieted  their  fears.  He  fortified  the  town,  adopted  strin- 
gent measures  against  the  tories  on  Long  Island,  and  was  active  in 
enlarging  and  disciplining  the  force  preparatory  for  the  defence  of 
the  place.  While  thus  busily  employed,  intelligence  was  received 
of  the  death  of  Montgomery,  and  Lee,  within  two  weeks  after  his 
arrival  at  New  York,  was  selected  to  succeed  him.  The  words  in 
which  John  Adams  alluded  to  this  choice  were  highly  flattering. 
"  We  want  you  at  New  York,"  he  said,  "  we  want  you  at  Cam- 
bridge ;  we  want  you  in  Virginia  ;  but  Canada  seems  <ff  more  im- 
portance than  any  of  these  places,  and  therefore  you  are  sent  there." 
In  a  few  days,  however,  his  destination  was  changed  for  the  south- 
ern department,  it  having  been  ascertained  that  Sir  Henry  Clinton 
intended  proceeding  thither.  On  his  way  to  South  Carolina,  L^e 
stopped  in  Virginia  and  rendered  himself  useful  against  Lord  Dun- 
more.  He  here  caused  armed  boats  to  be  constructed  for  the  rivers, 
and  attempted  to  form  a  body  of  cavalry.  He  advised  the  seizure 
of  General  Eden.  An  intercepted  correspondence  between  Lord 
George  Germain  and  that  gentleman,  revealing  that  the  purpose  of  the 
enemy  was  to  proceed  to  the  more  southern  colonies,  Lee  speedily 
moved  towards  North,  and  afterwards  to  South  Carolina,  where, 
at  the  head  of  an  army  hastily  collected,  he  prepared  to  resist  the 
enemy  on  landing,  a  contingency  which  did  not  occur,  the  gallant 
defence  of  Fort  Sullivan  rendering  Lee's  forces  useless. 

After  being  in  command  of  the  southern  department  six  months, 
he  was  recalled  to  the  north  by  Congress,  and  on  the  14th  of  Octo- 
ber, joined  the  army  on  the  Hudson,  where  the  charge  of  the  right 
wing  was  committed  to  him.  He  arrived  in  time  to  urge  strongly, 
in  a  council  of  war,  the  impolicy  of  garrisoning  Fort  Washington, 
47 


THE  HEROES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 

and  the  result  justified  his  views ;  but  Congress,  had,  in  fact,  decided 
in  favor  of  the  measure,  by  desiring  the  Commander-in-chief, "  by 
every  act,  to  obstruct  effectually  the  navigation  of  the  North  River 
between  Fort  Washington  and  Mount  Constitution."  Subsequently, 
when  the  British  forced  the  chevaux-de-frise  and  ascended  beyond 
the  forts,  Washington  wrote  to  General  Greene,  expressing  an  opin- 
ion in  favor  of  abandoning  the  fort ;  but  the  latter  was  too  sanguine, 
and  hence  the  loss  of  the  place.  Now  ensued  the  terrible  retreat 
through  the  Jerseys.  Up  to  this  period  the  conduct  of  General  Lee 
had  been  not  only  meritorious,  but  highly  praiseworthy ;  but  from 
this  time  it  began  to  assume  a  dubious  aspect.  When  the  retreat 
commenced  he  had  been  stationed  with  the  rear  of  the  army,  in  num- 
ber about  seven  thousand  five  hundred  men ;  and  Washington, 
every  day  more  hard  pressed  by  the  enemy,  continued  writing  for 
him  to  hasten  to  the  main  army.  These  messages  were  sent  from 
Hackensack,  Newark,  Brunswick,  and  Trenton,  at  first  requesting, 
then  urging  Lee  to  bring  up  his  troops  by  the  speediest  route.  Lee 
desired  Heath,  who  commanded  in  the  Highlands,  to  send  forward 
two  thousand  of  his  men,  but  this  he  refused  to  do,  when  a  sharp 
altercation  ensued,  Lee  commanding  as  Heath's  superior  officer, 
Heath  pleading  the  orders  of  Washington  ;  the  latter  of  whom,  on 
being  referred  to,  sustained  Heath.  At  last  Lee  put  his  troops  in 
motion,  his*force  now  consisting  of  three  thousand  men,  the  remain- 
der having  returned  home  on  the  expiration  of  their  enlistments. 
Messages  continually  arrived  from  Washington,  pressing  the  lagging 
General  to  hurry  forward.  It  must  be  recollected  that  this  was  the 
crisis  of  the  Revolution  ;  that  dark  hour  just  before  the  battle  of  Tren- 
ton, when  the  patriotism  of  New  Jersey  was  already  shivering  in 
the  wind ;  when  secret  traitors  in  the  American  camp  plotted  deser- 
tion ;  when  the  cause  hung  by  a  single  thread  only,  and  everything 
depended  on  the  strength  and  fidelity  of  Washington's  little  army. 
The  tardiness  of  Lee  at  such  a  time,  when  the  junction  of  his  troops 
would  have  doubled  the  force  of  the  Commander-in-chief,  is  inexcu- 
sable, and  must  fill  all  candid  minds  with  distrust.  The  only  rational 
explanation  of  his  conduct  is  that  he  had  already  become  alienated 
from  Washington,  and  sought  to  plunge  him  into  inextricable  diffi- 
culties in  revenge.  Or,  perhaps,  that  he  hoped  to  be  able  to  achieve 
some  brilliant  deed  on  his  own  responsibility,  which  should  enable 
him  to  aspire  to  the  supreme  command,  in  case  of  the  capture  of 
Washington,  of  his  death  in  battle,  or  of  his  removal  by  Congress. 

But  these  calculations  were  frustrated  by  two  unforseen  events, 
the  capture  of  Lee  himself,  and  Washington's  victory  at  Trenton. 


CHARLES    LEE.  371 

Lee  was  made  a  prisoner  at  Baskingridge,  on  the  1 3th  of  December, 
ten  days  after  he  crossed  the  Hudson.  For  some  reasons,  never  ex- 
plained, Lee  had  taken  up  his  quarters  for  the  night,  with  a  small 
guard,  at  a  solitary  house  about  three  miles  from  his  encampment. 
A  tory,  discovering  this  fact,  communicated  it  to  Colonel  Harcourt, 
a  spirited  British  officer,  at  that  time  scouring  the  country  with  a 
party  of  dragoons.  Here,  just  after  breakfast,  the  Colonel  surprised 
Lee,  and  placing  him  on  a  horse,  without  a  hat,  clad  only  in  a 
blanket-coat  and  slippers,  galloped  off  with  him  in  triumph  to  the 
British  army  at  Brunswick.  His  capture,  notwithstanding  his  late 
conduct,  was  regarded  as  a  serious  blow  by  the  Americans.  The 
public  sympathy  soon  became  warmly  aroused  in  his  favor,  espe- 
cially when  it  was  understood  that  he  was  to  be  sent  to  England 
for  trial  as  a  deserter ;  and  Congress  immediately  ordered  five  Hes- 
sian field-officers,  and  Lieutenant-Colonel  (Campbell,  then  a  prisoner 
in  Boston,  to  be  imprisoned  until  the  British  should  consent  to  treat 
Lee  as  a  prisoner  of  war,  and  exchange  him  on  equitable  terms. 
Howe,  in  this  emergency,  wrote  home  for  instructions,  and  the  Min- 
ister, taking  counsel  of  prudence,  yielded.  The  negotiation,  however, 
consumed  nine  months,  during  all  which  time  Lee  was  uncertain  of 
his  fate.  He  probably  owed  his  life  to  the  firm  attitude  assumed  in 
his  behalf,  by  Congress  and  the  Commander-in-chief. 

Lee  joined  the  American  army,  after  his  exchange,  at  Valley 
Forge,  in  May,  1778.  But  he  did  not  return  to  the  service  with  his 
old  popularity.  Other  officers,  meantime,  had  performed  brilliant 
deeds,  and  shorn  him  of  the  laurels  which  he  might  have  gained  if 
free.  The  mode  of  his  capture  wore  an  air  of  the  ridiculous,  and 
appeared  such  as  no  judicious  officer  could  possibly  encounter. 
Moreover,  the  remembrance  of  his  conduct  in  delaying  to  join 
Washington  produced  unfavorable  impressions  towards  him;  for 
men  said  that  a  subordinate  ought  to  obey,  right  or  wrong,  and 
leave  the  responsibility  with  his  superior.  There  appeared,  on  a 
review  of  his  career,  a  general  assumption  of  authority  on  the  part 
of  Lee,  a  haughtiness,  an  irascibility  of  temper,  a  scorn  and  self- 
conceit  which  not  all  his  chivalry,  his  frankness,  and  his  devotion  to 
the  cause  of  liberty  could  make  the  public  forget ;  and  though  pity 
for  his  late  misfortunes,  for  the  present  kept  these  feelings  in  the  back- 
ground, a  circumstance  soon  occurred,  which  revived  them  in  all 
their  force,  and  by  exhibiting  the  unfavorable  points  of  his  character 
in  a  stronger  light  than  ever,  produced  the  permanent  ruin  of  Lee. 
We  allude,  of  course,  to  the  battle  of  Monmouth. 

No  sooner  was  it  known,  in  the  American  camp,  that  Clinton  had 


372    t          THE  HEROES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 

abandoned  Philadelphia,  and  begun  his  retreat  through  New-Jersey, 
than  Washington,  about  the  middle  of  June,  1778,  set  his  troops  in 
motion  for  the  pursuit.  The  Commander-in-chief  was  anxious  to 
join  battle  with  his  adversary ;  but  to  this  his  officers  were  almost 
unanimously  opposed.  The  British  General's  first  intention  had 
been  to  reach  New  York  by  the  way  of  Brunswick,  but  after  ascend- 
ing the  Delaware  as  far  as  Bordentown,  he  learned  that  Washington 
had  already  occupied  the  high  grounds  which  commanded  that 
route.  He  was  accordingly  forced  to  abandon  his  original  design, 
and,  turning  off  toward  Crosswicks,  he  proceeded  through  Allentown 
to  Monmouth  Court  House,  intending  to  reach  South  Amboy  in  this 
more  circuitous  way.  At  Monmouth  Court  House  he  rested  for 
several  days,  having  chosen,  for  his  position,  a  wooded  hill,  sur- 
rounded by  swamps,  and  almost  inaccessible. 

During'  this  retreat  Washington  had  moved  along  the  more  ele- 
vated grounds  to  the  northward,  in  nearly  a  parallel  line  to  his 
enemy,  thus  retaining  the  power  to  give  or  withhold  battle.  No 
means  of  annoying  Sir  Henry,  meantime,  were  neglected.  A  strong 
corps  hung  on  his  left  flank,  a  regiment  followed  on  his  rear,  and 
Colonel  Morgan  watched  his  right.  Washington  appears  to  have 
secretly  wished  for  a  battle  during  the  whole  march,  and  as  the 
British  approached  the  end  of  their  journey  he  gradually  drew  his 
forces  around  them.  He  now  again  called  a  council  of  his  officers, 
and  proposed  that  battle  should  be  given.  But  the  measure  was 
negatived  a  second  time.  It  was,  however,  agreed  that  the  corps 
on  the  left  flank  of  the  enemy  should  be  strengthened,  and  that  the 
main  body  of  the  army  should  move  in  close  vicinity  to  it,  so  as  to 
be  at  hand  to  support  it  in  case  of  an  emergency.  Among  those 
who  opposed  a  battle  were  Generals  Lee  and  Du  Portail,  and  the 
venerable  Baron  Steuben.  These  officers  considered  the  discipline 
of  the  Americans  so  inferior  to  that  of  the  British,  as  to  render 
defeat  inevitable,  in  case  the  two  armies  should  engage  on  equal 
terms ;  and  the  influence  of  their  opinions  brought  over  most  of  the 
junior  officers  to  that  side.  Wayne,  Cadwalader,  La  Fayette  and 
Greene,  appear  to  have  been  the  only  ones  who  differed  from  the 
council ;  and  the  two  first  alone  were  openly  in  favor  of  a  battle. 
When  the  council  decided  so  much  against  his  wishes,  Washington 
resolved  to  act  on  his  own  responsibility.  The  British  were  already 
approaching  Monmouth  ;  twelve  miles  further  on  were  the  Heights 
of  Middletown.  If  the  enemy  reached  these  latter  all  hope  of  bring- 
ing him  to  an  action,  unless  with  his  own  consent,  would  be  gone. 
The  blow,  if  struck  at  all,  must  be  given  at  once. 


CHARLES    LEE.  373 

To  bring  on  a  battle,  Washington  resolved  to  strengthen  still  fur- 
ther the  force  on  the  enemy's  left  flank,  now  the  advanced  corps : 
and  accordingly  he  detached  Wayne  to  join  it  with  a  thousand  men. 
This  command,  about  four  thousand  strong,  was  thought  of  sufficient 
importance  to  be  entrusted  to  one  of  the  Major-Generals ;  and  the"  post, 
of  right,  belonged  to  Lee.  But  having  advised  against  the  battle,  and 
believing  nothing  serious  was  intended,  he  allowed  La  Fayette  to  take 
his  place.  Scarcely  had  he  yielded,  however,  before  he  learned  the 
importance  of  the  post,  and  solicited  Washington  to  restore  it  to 
him ;  "  otherwise,"  to  use  his  own  phrase,  "  both  he  and  Lord  Stir- 
ling, (the  seniors  of  La  Fayette)  would  be  disgraced."  To  spare 
his  feelings,  Washington  suggested  a  compromise.  He  sent  Lee  to 
join  the  Marquis,  with  two  additional  brigades ;  but,  in  order  that 
the  feelings  of  La  Fayette  might  not  be  wounded,  he  stipulated  that 
if  any  scheme  of  attack  had  been  formed  for  the  day,  Lee  should 
not  interfere  with  it.  The  intelligence  of  this  change,  and  of  the 
stipulation  he  had  made,  Washington  himself  communicated  to  La 
Fayette.  No  plan  of  attack,  however,  had  been  formed,  and  by  the 
night  of  the  27th  Lee,  was  in  full  command  of  the  advanced  corps. 

His  army  lay  at  Englishtown,  not  five  miles  distant  from  Mon- 
mouth,  where  the  British  were  encamped.  Washington,  with  the 
rear  division,  was  but  three  miles  behind ;  and  almost  his  last  duty, 
before  he  retired,  was  to  send  word  for  Lee  to  attack  the  enemy  as  soon 
as  Clinton  should  have  begun  his  march.  He  also  detached  Greene, 
with  a  sufficient  force,  to  move  on  the  enemy's  flank,  taking  a  cir- 
cuitous route  in  order  to  fall  into  the  main  road  again,  just  before 
reaching  Monmouth  Court  House.  These  arrangements  were  known 
at  the  outer  posts,  and  a  battle  on  the  morrow  prognosticated :  so 
that  the  sentry,  as  he  walked  his  rounds  during  that  short  summer 
night,  speculated  often  on  the  fortunes  of  the  coming  day. 

The  morning  had  scarcely  dawned,  when  the  British  army  began 
its  march,  Knyphausen  with  the  baggage  going  first,  while  Corn- 
wallis,  with  the  flower  of  the  army,  followed  behind.  This  arrange- 
ment was  adopted  by  Clinton,  in  consequence  of  having  become 
aware  of  the  movements  of  the  Americans  on  his  flank ;  and,  like 
an  able  General,  he  strengthened  his  rear  for  the  combat  which  he 
began  to  see  was  inevitable  in  that  quarter.  As  there  was  but  a 
single  road  for  his  army  to  traverse,  the  train  of  baggage  wagons 
and  of  horses  reached  for  twelve  miles.  Accordingly,  although  the 
van  of  the  column  began  to  move  at  four  o'clock,  the  rear  of  it  did 
not  get  into  motion  until  nearly  eight ;  and  it  was  not  until  after 
this  hour  that  the  grenadiers  of  Cornwallis,  with  Clinton  and  him- 

GG 


374  THE  HEROES  OP  THE  REVOLUTION. 

self  at  their  head,  left  the  heights  of  Freehold,  where  they  had  been 
encamped  during  the  night,  and  began  to  descend  into  the  wooded 
plain  below,  through  which  the  road  wound  for  miles,  amid  woods, 
swamps  and  low  defiles.  Meantime,  Lee  had  received  a  second 
courier  from  Washington,  who,  hearing  the  enemy  was  in  motion, 
sent  orders  to  his  subordinate  to  attack  the  British,  "  unless  there 
should  be  powerful  reasons  to  the  contrary,"  promising  to  hasten 
up  with  the  reserves  and  sustain  the  battle.  Accordingly  Lee  began 
his  march,  and  by  nine  o'clock  reached  the  heights  of  Freehold, 
which  the  English  rear  had  left  just  before.  As  the  Americans 
gained  the  brow  of  the  elevation  they  beheld  the  splendid  grenadiers 
of  the  enemy,  moving  in  compact  masses,  along  the  valley  below  ; 
while  further  on  was  visible  the  long  line  of  baggage  wagons,  toiling 
like  some  huge  serpent  through  the  dusty  plain,  here  lost  in  the  woods, 
there  re-appearing  in  the  open  country,  until  finally  vanishing  in  the 
obscure  distance.  This  magnificent  spectacle  was  seen  only  for  a 
moment ;  for,  descending  into  the  level  ground,  Lee  prepared  to 
attack  the  foe.  His  plan  was  to  let  Wayne  press  on  the  covering 
party  of  the  British  rear,  while  he  himself,  taking  a  circuitous  route, 
should  gain  its  front  and  cut  it  off  from  the  main  body. 

But  Clinton  was  not  thus  to  be  surprised.  His  scouts  having 
brought  him  early  information  of  Lee's  movement  on  his  flank,  he 
collected  his  forces  with  the  intention  of  precipitating  them  in  over- 
whelming volume  on  his  antagonist.  There  was  no  other  way, 
indeed,  to  parry  the  blow.  The  baggage  was  engaged  in  a  succes- 
sion of  defiles,  extending  for  several  miles,  and  to  protect  it,  it  was 
necessary  to  turn  boldly  on  the  pursuers.  By  pressing  them  hard, 
Clinton  hoped  he  might  crush  them  before  Washington  could  arrive 
to  their  aid ;  for  the  American  Commander-in-chief  was  five  miles 
in  the  rear  of  Lee,  and  separated  from  him  by  two  defiles  difficult 
to  pass.  Even  if  he  should  have  eventually  to  meet  the  whole  force 
of  his  enemy,  Clinton  trusted,  in  these  defiles,  to  be  at  least  able  to 
hold  him  in  check.  But,  in  order  to  render  his  designs  as  sure  of 
success  as  possible,  he  despatched  word  to  Knyphausen  to  send  back 
reinforcements  to  the  rear.  This  succor  was  obtained  without  its 
being  at  first  perceived  by  Lee,  for  the  intervening  forest  hid  the 
movement  from  sight.  It  was  not  long,  however,  before  his  scouts 
brought  in  the  intelligence  that  Clinton  appeared  in  greater  force  than 
they  had  expected ;  and  when  Lee,  alarmed  at  this  information,  gal- 
loped to  the  front  to  reconnoitre,  he  was  startled  to  find  nearly  the 
whole  British  army  advancing  against  him,  their  dense  and  glittering 
masses  swarming  on  the  plain. 


0 
CHARLES    LEE.  375 

It  is  in  moments  such  as  this  that  great  generals  perform  those 
prodigies  of  valor,  and  achieve  those  wonders  of  tactics,  which 
make  their  names  immortal !  But  Lee  was  under  the  influence  of 
feelings  which  prevented  his  making  any  such  splendid  effort !  We 
cannot  suppose  that  the  retreat  which  ensued  was  in  consequence 
of  any  treachery  on  his  part :  we  must  therefore  assign  the  cause  to 
his  want  of  self-confidence,  or  a  secret  resolution  to  make  good  his 
late  opinion.  He  had  a  morass  in  his  rear  and  a  disciplined  enemy 
in  front :  here  was  reason  sufficient  to  induce  a  weak  man  to  abandon 
the  field.  But  he  had  received  orders  to  attack,  with  an  assurance 
of  speedy  support :  this  ought  to  have  sufficed  for  a  brave  man  and 
an  obedient  officer.  The  truth  is,  Lee  had  advised  against  a 
battle,  and  was  not  sorry  to  find  his  opinion  apparently  sustained  by 
results :  he  saw  sufficient  in  the  present  conjuncture  to  excuse  him, 
he  thought,  in  making  a  retreat.  At  first,  indeed,  he  resolved  to 
form  and  await  the  enemy,  but  some  of  his  troops  crossing  the 
morass  in  his  rear  under  a  mistaken  order,  he  changed  his  mind,  and 
precipitately  fell  back  in  the  direction  of  the  main  army,  without 
firing  a  gun.  Lee's  exaggerated  fear  of  the  English  veterans  is 
shown  in  this  little  incident,  as  it  had  been  before  displayed  at  the 
attack  on  Charleston,  when  he  advised  the  abandonment  of  Fort 
Moultrie  ;  and,  without  any  imputation  on  his  courage  or  his  fidel- 
ity, assists  to  explain  his  conduct. 

Clinton,  finding  his  foe  retreating,  briskly  advanced  to  the  attack, 
preceded  by  the  Queen's  light  dragoons ;  these,  charging  a  body  of 
horse  led  by  La  Fayette,  drove  them  back  in  disorder.  The  route 
of  the  retreating  Americans  lay  along  a  valley,  about  one  mile  broad 
and  three  long,  cut  up  by  ravines  and  sprinkled  with  clumps  of  wood- 
land. Into  one  of  these  bits  of  forest,  the  Americans  now  plunged 
themselves,  from  which  they  emerged  in  four  columns,  at  a  distance 
of  twelve  hundred  paces,  about  a  mile  beyond  the  village  of  Mon- 
mouth.  Here  they  made  a  temporary  stand,  and  placed  a  battery  ; 
but  on  the  approach  of  the  British  they  fell  back  again  without  a 
discharge ;  at  the  same  time  a  detachment  formed  in  front  of  the 
village  retired  also  without  resistance.  The  whole  of  the  advanced 
corps  under  Lee  was  now  in  full  retreat.  Flushed  with  what  they 
considered  a  certain  victory,  though  almost  incredible  at  the  ease 
with  which  it  had  been  purchased,  the  British  thundered  hotly  in 
pursuit,  their  long  line  of  burnished  muskets  flashing  in  the  sunshine, 
as  they  poured  out  from  the  woods  and  debouched  into  the  open 
ground  in  front.  The  sight  of  these  magnificent  troops,  and  the 
splendid  manner  in  which  they  manoeuvred,  increased  Lee's  want 


376  THE  HEROES  OF  THE  REVOLUTIOX. 

of  confidence  in  his  men,  and  rendered  him  more  eager  to  pursue 
his  retreat.  He  accordingly  fell  back  another  mile,  when  he  again 
halted.  His  position  was  now  comparatively  tenable,  with  a  ravine 
in  front,  and  woods  on  either  flank.  A  couple  of  cannon,  well 
placed,  would  have  commanded  the  approaches,  and  enabled  him 
to  maintain  himself  until  succor  should  arrive  ;  but,  overcome  by 
fears,  at  the  approach  of  the  enemy,  he  once  more  gave  the  order  to 
retire,  and  flung  himself  into  the  forest  on  the  left.  Into  its  recesses 
the  British  eagerly  followed  him,  and  soon  the  woods  rang  far  and 
near  with  the  rattle  of  musketry,  the  shouts  of  combatants,  and  the 
tread  of  charging  infantry.  Faster  and  faster  the  Americans  retreat- 
ed ;  but,  hot  and  fierce,  the  enemy  pressed  in  pursuit.  At  last  a 
portion  of  the  fugitives  made  a  third  stand,  in  the  vicinity  of  some 
elevated  grounds  about  three  miles  from  their  first  position ;  but  they 
had  scarcely  formed,  when  the  British  cavalry,  shaking  their  sabres 
in  the  sun,  poured  down  to  the  charge.  Before  this  terrible  onset 
the  Americans  speedily  gave  way :  but,  ere  the  retreat  became  a 
rout,  a  battery  of  two  guns,  hastily  unlimbered  by  Colonel  Stuart, 
checked  the  advance  of  the  victorious  horse.  By  this  time  murmurs 
of  dissatisfaction  began  to  be  heard  among  the  men ;  who  declared 
that,  if  led  with  resolution,  they  could  maintain  their  ground  against 
Iwice  the  legions  of  Clinton.  The  discontent  became  almost  uni- 
versal :  whispers  of  treachery  on  the  part  of  Lee  begun  to  circulate  ; 
and,  at  last,  one  or  more  of  the  officers  galloped  from  the  ranks,  and, 
hurrying  to  the  rear,  conveyed  the  startling  intelligence  to  Washing- 
ton of  the  disastrous  and  unexpected  retreat. 

While  these  events  were  in  progress,  the  main  army  had  left  the 
encampment  and  was  advancing  to  sustain  Lee.  The  day  was 
excessively  sultry,  but,  as  soon  as  the  report  of  the  first  cannon 
boomed  across  the  distance,  the  troops  broke  into  a  quick-step  :  and 
shortly  after,  as  the  reverberations  of  the  artillery  increased,  throwing 
away  their  knapsacks,  they  hurried  impatiently  forward.  For  a 
time  the  firing  ceased,  nox  could  the  cause  of  this  be  explained. 
Anxious,  and  in  doubt,  Washington  pressed  on,  in  vain  seeking  some 
elevation  in  the  road  from  which  to  gain  a  view  of  the  country 
ahead :  but  no  rising  ground  offered  itself,  or  if  it  did,  the  prospect 
was  shut  in  by  dark  masses  of  woods.  The  cannonade  was  now 
resumed,  followed  by  faint  reports  of  musketry :  and  soon  the  vicinity 
of  the  sounds  proved  that  the  battle  was  close  at  hand.  At  last 
Washington  reached  a  partly  elevated  ground,  where  he  paused  a 
moment  to  allow  his  troops  to  come  up.  He  was  standing  beside 
his  reeking  horse,  seeking  a  momentary  shade  from  the  noon  of  that 


CHARLES    LEE.  377 

awful  day,  when  he  discovered  the  first  of  the  fugitives  from  Lee's 
command;  and  immediately  afterwards,  an  officer  hastening  for- 
ward, begged  him  to  press  on,  or  the  battle  would  be  inevitably  lost 
Astonished  and  indignant,  he  leaped  on  his  horse,  and  galloped 
furiously  through  the  retreating  ranks.  In  a  few  moments  he 
reached  the  head,  where,  drawing  in  his  bridle  at  the  side  of  Lee, 
he  exclaimed  sharply,  "What  is  the  meaning  of  this  ?"  "  Sir,  sir," 
replied  Lee,  abashed  at  so  severe  an  address.  "  What  is  all  this 
confusion  for,  and  retreat  ?"  retorted  Washington.  "  I  see  no  con- 
fusion," replied  Lee,  "but  what  has  arisen  from  my  orders  not 
being  obeyed.  The  enemy  are  too  strong  for  me."  "  You  should 
not  have  undertaken  this  command,  sir,  unless  you  intended  to 
fight,"  was  the  stern  reply ;  and  with  this,  Washington  put  spurs  to 
his  horse  and  pressing  to  the  extreme  rear  of  the  fugitives,  took  a 
rapid  view  of  the  advancing  enemy  and  of  the  capabilities  of  the 
surrounding  ground  for  defence.  His  decision  on  the  course  to  be 
pursued  was  instantaneous.  His  eagle  eye  seized  the  favorable 
points  at  once.  His  momentary  anger  had  now  passed  away,  or 
only  sufficient  of  it  remained  to  give  a  glow  to  his  fine  face,  as 
riding  hither  and  thither,  his  tall  form  towering  above  all,  and  his 
voice  raised  in  short  and  stern  commands,  he  sought  to  rally  and 
dispose  the  troops.  Never,  it  is  said,  was  his  aspect  more  heroic 
than  on  this  occasion.  He  flashed  to  and  fro  like  a  god  suddenly 
descended  on  the  scene.  His  presence,  his  stirring  appeals,  but 
more  than  all  his  enthusiasm,  at  once  restored  courage  and  confi- 
dence to  the  men,  and  with  loud  cries  they  demanded  to  be  led 
against  the  enemy.  Hastily  forming  the  regiments  of  Ramsey  and 
Stuart,  Washington  left,  them  to  receive  the  first  onset  of  the  foe  : 
and  then  hurried  back  to  bring  up  his  reserves.  As  he  passed  Lee, 
he  ordered  that  officer  to  keep  his  ground,  if  possible,  until  succor 
should  arrive.  He  had  scarcely  been  lost  to  sight  down  the  road 
when  Hamilton,  galloped  across  the  fields,  his  horse  in  a  foam. 
Reaching  Lee's  side,  he  grasped  his  hand  and  exclaimed,  "  My  dear 
General,  let  me  stay  here  and  die  with  you  :  let  us  all  die  here  rather 
than  retreat !"  With  these  words  the  battle  again  begun. 

But  Lee's  troops  could  not  long  withstand  the  assaults  of  the 
enemy,  who  came  pouring  down  on  them,  flushed  and  triumphant 
with  success.  The  momentary  enthusiasm  produced  by  the  presence 
of  Washington  had  subsided ;  and  though  many  were  eager  to  perish 
where  they  stood  rather  than  retire,  the  confidence  of  an  army,  once 
broken,  is  difficult  to  be  restored ;  and  hence,  after  a  brief  resistance, 
the  division  began  a  new  retreat.  By  this  time,  however,  Washing- 
48  GO* 


378  THE  HEROES  OP  THE  REVOLUTION. 

ton  had  formed  his  reserves,  and,  opening  his  ranks  for  the  fugitives 
to  pass,  he  directed  Lee  to  retire  to  Englishtown,  three  miles  in  the 
rear,  and  there  collect  his  troops.  The  ground  chosen  by  Washing- 
ton was  low,  but  protected  by  a  morass  in  front;  while  Knox,  with 
six  pieces  of  artillery,  was  thrown  forward  to  a  high  ground  over- 
looking the  enemy's  flank.  Perceiving  these  able  dispositions,  Clin- 
ton checked  the  advance  of  his  light  infantry  and  turning  to  Wash- 
ington's left,  made  a  feint  to  attack  there ;  but  Lord  Stirling,  with 
some  field-pieces,  took  post  on  an  elevation  in  this  quarter,  and  as- 
sisted by  the  infantry,  drove  back  the  enemy.  Now,  for  the  first 
time,  the  British  received  a  positive  check.  Stung  with  mortification 
they  made  desperate  efforts  to  redeem  the  day.  In  a  few  minutes 
the  battle  became  furious.  Detachment  after  detachment  of  infantry, 
issuing  from  the  American  lines,  charged  the  British  wherever  they 
advanced ;  while,  as  often  as  the  Americans  retired,  the  British  fol- 
lowed, like  a  returning  wave.  It  had  been  ten  o'clock  when  the 
retreat  first  began ;  it  was  twelve  when  Washington  came  up  to  Lee : 
an  hour  had  been  lost  in  forming  the  troops;  and  now  for  two  hours 
more,  the  undulating  ground  on  which  the  armies  were  drawn  up, 
shook  with  the  reverberations  of  artillery  and  was  darkened  with 
the  smoke  of  battle.  It  was  the  Sabbath  day,  and  just  in  front  of  the 
American  infantry  rose  a  quiet  parsonage  house :  yet  the  uproar  and 
slaughter  of  the  strife  grew  momently  more  terrible.  Far  away,  over 
the  fields,  the  yellowing  wheat  stood  motionless,  for  not  a  breath  of 
air  was  stirring;  while  the  atmosphere,  along  the  lines  of  the  low  hills, 
seemed  to  boil  in  the  sultry  sunbeams.  No  Sabbath  bell  called  wor- 
shippers to  prayer:  no  quiet  groups  were  seen  wending  their  way  to 
church :  none  of  the  usual  holy  repose  of  the  sacred  day  hung  over 
the  landscape.  But,  as  the  sun  traversed  the  unclouded  zenith,  and 
began  to  decline  towards  the  west,  the  fury  of  the  fight  raged  higher 
and  fiercer,  and  the  sulphurous  smoke  gathered  denser  along  the  ' 
ensanguined  plain. 

Wayne,  with  an  advanced  corps,  had  taken  a  position  on  a  rising 
ground, twelve  rods  behind  the  parsonage, and  about  half  way  between 
the  main  body  and  the  park  of  artillery  under  Knox.  A  fence  ran 
across  the  field  just  in  front.  Several  times  the  British  grenadiers 
crossed  this  fence,  in  order  to  drive  Wayne  back  from  his  position ; 
but,  as  often,  the  fire  of  our  troops  and  artillery  stationed  there  re- 
pulsed them  in  disorder.  At  last  Colonel  Monckton,  their  leader,  in 
a  short  address,  nearly  every  word  of  which  was  heard  by  Wayne's 
detachment,  then  scarcely  thirty  rods  distant,  stimulated  them  to  a 
last  desperate  assault.  Placing  himself  at  their  head,  Monckton  or- 


CHARLES    LEE.  379 

dered  them  to  advance,  which  they  did  in  silence,  and  in  as  beauti- 
ful order  as  on  parade.  For  a  moment  the  Americans  gazed  in 
hushed  admiration  on  these  splendid  troops :  then  the  batteries 
of  Knox  and  the  musketry  of  Wayne's  infantry  opened  together. 
The  slaughter  that  ensued  was  the  most  horrible  of  any  that  had  hap- 
pened yet,  during  the  five  hours  of  battle.  The  balls  of  the  cannon 
tore  up  the  solid  ranks  of  the  foe,  in  one  instance  a  single  shot  dis- 
arming a  whole  platoon.  The  deadly  aim  of  the  Americans  smote 
the  British  ranks  incessantly,  the  officers  falling  as  if  pierced  by  the 
shafts  of  some  invisible  power.  Colonel  Monckton,  while  cheering 
at  the  head  of  his  men,  was  mortally  wounded.  Instantly  the  Ameri- 
cans rushed  forward  to  seize  the  body,  while  the  British  strove  man- 
fully to  carry  it  off.  Then  ensued  one  of  those  desperate  melees 
which  Homer  loved  to  describe,  and  which  belong  rather  to  romance 
than  to  history.  Foot  to  foot  and  breast  to  breast  the  combatants 
fought,  the  men  frequently  throwing  aside  their  arms  arid  grappling 
in  the  death  struggle  ;  while,  on  every  part  of  the  field  there  was  a 
momentary  pause,  and  all  eyes  turned  to  where  that  dark  body  of 
commingled  foes  swayed  backwards  and  forwards  in  the  strife  of 
life  and  death.  Now,  the  smoke,  clinging  around  the  combatants, 
hid  them  from  sight ;  now  the  white  masses  broke  away  and  revealed 
the  tumultuous  conflict.  The  artillery  ceased  firing,  for  friend  and 
foe  were  inextricably  linked  together.  One  moment  the  Americans 
appeared  to  have  the  advantage ;  the  next  they  were  seen  slowly 
giving  way.  No  cheers  rose  from  the  combatants  in  that  mortal  con- 
test ;  the  struggle  was  too  earnest  for  words.  At  last  the  scene  be- 
came one  of  apparently  interminable  confusion,  where,  around  a  pile 
of  dead,  groups  of  savage  men,  begrimed  with  smoke  and  covered 
with  blood,  flashed  to  and  fro  under  the  lurid  canopy,  like  demons. 
Then  the  whole  spectacle  vanished  behind  that  cloud  of  vapor ;  a 
minute  of  suspense  ensued  ;  and  when  the  veil  lifted,  the  British  were 
seen  driving  in  confusion  across  the  fence.  The  Americans  were 
victorious,  remaining  in  triumphant  possession  of  the  body,  now  sur- 
rounded by  a  hecatomb  of  slain  !  On  seeing  this  terrible  spectacle, 
Clinton,  despairing  of  success,  abandoned  his  position  and  fell  back 
behind  the  ravine,  to  the  spot  he  had  occupied  when  he  received  his 
first  check,  immediately  after  Washington  met  Lee. 

The  engraving  represents  this  portion  of  the  battle  field.  The 
view  looks  to  the  north.  At  the  back  of  the  spectator,  and 
to  the  left,  is  where  Knox,  with  his  artillery  was  posted.  In  the 
distance,  from  between  the  two  apple  trees,  stretching  along  to  the 
left  of  the  picture,  is  the  ground  occupied  by  Washington.  To  the 


380  THE  HEROES  OP  THE  REVOLUTION. 

right,  from  the  house  to  the  end  of  the  view,  lies  the  elevated  ground 
where  the  British  army  was  stationed.  Wayne's  division  came  into 
action  to  the  right,  between  Knox  and  the  enemy. 

When  the  British  were  thus  driven  back,  they  seized  an  almost 
impregnable  position,  that  which  Lee  had  once  occupied ;  their  flanks 
being  secured  by  thick  woods  and  morasses,  and  their  front  accessi- 
ble only  through  a  narrow  pass.  The  day  was  now  declining,  yet 
Washington  determined  on  forcing  the  enemy  from  his  .position. 
Two  brigades  were  accordingly  detached  to  gain  the  right  flank  of 
the  British,  and  Woodford,  with  his  gallant  brigade  was  ordered  to 
turn  their  left.  Knox  opened  his  terrible  batteries,  and  the  battle 
once  more  began.  The  British  cannon  replied.  The  ground  shook 
with  the  earthquake  of  heavy  artillery,  and  the  fields  where  the  enemy 
had  lately  stood,  echoed  to  the  cheers  of  the  Americans  advancing  to 
the  charge. 

Night  was  now  approaching,  however.  All  through  that  long 
day,  with  the  thermometer  at  ninety,  the  two  armies  had  been  en- 
gaged either  in  pursuing,  in  retreating,  or  in  active  strife  ;  numbers 
had  died  from  pure  exhaustion,  others  had  their  tongues  so  swollen 
with  thirst  that  they  could  not  speak,  and  scores  had  crawled  to  the 
sides  of  the  brook,  or  sank  helpless  under  some  friendly  shade.  Never, 
in  the  annals  of  modern  warfare,  had  there  been  a  battle  so  obstinately 
contested  under  so  burning  a  sun.  Hour  after  hour  the  two  armies 
had  struggled  in  that  narrow  valley.  There,  at  high  noon,  the  corn- 
but  had  begun ;  and  there,  though  it  was  now  sunset,  the  strife  still 
raged.  The  purple  tints  of  the  declining  day  changed  to  a  cold 
green,  and  this  to  sober  grey,  yet  a  desultory  firing  continued  in 
spots  across  the  field.  The  moon,  then  in  her  last  quarter,  began  to 
show  her  faint  horn  in  the  western  heaven ;  and  then,  but  not  till 
then,  the  dropping  shots  ceased,  and  silence  gradually  fell  on  the 
landscape.  But  long  after  this,  the  dun  smoke,  which  no  breath  of 
welcome  air  stirred,  hung  over  the  scene  of  strife,  and,  growing 
darker  as  the  night  deepened,  took  the  appearance  of  a  vast  velvet 
pall,  flung,  by  the  hand  of  pitying  nature,  over  the  unburied  heroes 
that  lay  around.  Completely  worn  out,  the  combatants  of  both 
armies  sank  to  repose,  each  man  making  his  bed  on  the  ground  he 
occupied.  The  troops  of  Washington  slept  on  their  arms,  he  him- 
self reclining  like  the  humblest  soldier  in  their  midst. 

It  was  the  intention  of  the  American  General  to  renew  the  battle  on 
the  following  day,  but  toward  midnight,  when  the  moon  had  gone 
down,  the  British  secretly  abandoned  their  position,  and  resumed  their 
march.  So  fatigued  were  the  Americans,  that  the  flight  of  the  enemy 


CHARLES    LEE.  381 

was  not  discovered  until  morning.  Washington  made  no  attempt  at 
pursuit,  satisfied  that  Sir  Henry  Clinton  would  reach  the  heights  of 
Middletown  before  he  could  be  overtaken.  Accordingly,  leaving  a 
detachment  to  watch  the  British  rear,  the  main  body  of  the  army  was 
moved,  by  easy  marches,  to  the  Hudson.  In  this  battle  the  enemy 
lost  nearly  three  hundred ;  the  Americans  did  not  suffer  a  third  as 
much.  Never,  unless  at  Princeton,  did  Washington  evince  such 
heroism.  His  presence  of  mind  alone  saved  the  day.  He  checked 
the  retreat,  drove  back  the  enemy,  and  remained  master  of  the  field  ; 
and  this,  too,  with  a  loss  comparatively  trifling  when  compared 
with  that  01  the  foe. 

The  battle  of  MOD  mouth,  won  in  this  manner,  when  all  the  senior 
officers  had  declared  a  victory  impossible,  left  a  profound  impression 
on  the  public  mind  of  America  and  Europe.  The  discipline  of  our 
troops  was  no  longer  despised.  Soldiers  who,  under  such  disastrous 
circumstances,  could  be  brought  to  face  and  drive  back  a  successful 
foe,  were  declared  to  be  a  match  for  the  veterans  of  Europe ;  and 
their  General,  who  had  been  called  the  Fabius,  was  now  honored 
with  the  new  title  of  the  Marcellus  of  modern  history. 

This  is  the  proper  place  to  refer  to  the  subsequent  disgrace  of  Lee. 
Though  Washington  had  addressed  him  warmly  in  the  first  surprise 
of  their  meeting,  it  is  probable  that  no  public  notice  would  have 
been  taken  of  Lee's  hasty  retreat,  but  for  the  conduct  of  that  Gene- 
ral himself.  Of  a  haughty,  perhaps  of  an  overbearing  disposition, 
he  could  not  brook  the  indignity  which  he  considered  had  been  put 
upon  him ;  and  almost  his  first  act  was  to  write  an  improper  letter 
to  Washington,  demanding  reparation  for  the  words  used  toward 
him  on  the  battle-field.  The  reply  of  the  Commander-in-chief  was 
dignified,  but  severe.  He  assured  his  subordinate  he  should  have  a 
speedy  opportunity  to  justify  himself,  and  on  Lee's  asking  for  a 
court-martial,  the  latter  was  arrested.  The  verdict  of  that  body  was, 

First :  That  he  was  guilty  of  disobedience  of  orders  in  not  attack- 
ing the  enemy  on  the  28th  of  June,  agreeably  to  repeated  instruc- 
tions. Second :  That  he  was  guilty  of  misbehavior  before  the 
enemy  on  the  same  day,  in  making  an  unnecessary,  and,  in  some 
few  instances,  a  disorderly  retreat.  Third :  That  he  was  guilty  of 
disrespect  to  the  Commander-in-chief  in  two  letters.  His  sentence 
was,  to  be  suspended  from  his  rank  for  one  year. 

We  shall  not  go  into  a  minute  examination  of  the  question  whether 
this  punishment  was  deserved.  Our  own  opinion  is  that  it  was. 
We  must,  however,  be  understood  as  saying  that  the  two  first 
charges  were  not  made  out  clearly  by  the  evidence ;  and  that  it 


• 

382  THE  HEROES  OP  THE  REVOLUTION. 

would  have  been  fairer  to  have  convicted  Lee  only  on  the  last.  We 
do  not  think  him  guilty  in  the  retreat  of  anything  but  an  error  in 
judgment,  arising,  perhaps,  from  want  of  confidence  in  his  men. 
But  he  should  have  1cept  the  Commander-in-chief  advised  of  his 
movements.  It  is  clear  that  Lee  considered  himself  a  superior  officer 
to  Washington.  Hence,  he  was  overbearing,  proud,  sullen,  and 
dogmatical  throughout  the  whole  proceedings,  both  before  and  after 
the  battle.  This  point  of  his  character  was  well  understood  by  the 
army,  with  whom  he  was  unpopular : — it  was  the  real  cause  of  his 
disgrace.  He  fell  a  victim,  not  so  much  to  his  error  in  the  retreat, 
as  to  his  haughty  and  impetuous  character ;  for,  unwilling  to  brook 
a  superior,  he  assumed  an  attitude  to  the  Commander-in-chief, 
incompatible  alike  with  decency  and  discipline. 

The  verdict  fell,  like  a  thunderbolt,  on  Lee.  He  was  still  con- 
fident,»  ho  we  ver,  that  Congress,  which  body  was  to  reverse  or 
approve  the  decision  of  the  court-martial,  would  annul  the  pro- 
ceedings. He  was  disappointed.  If  there  had,  at  any  time,  been  a 
chance  in  his  favor,  it  was  destroyed  by  the  intemperance  of  his 
language  in  reference  to  the  court  and  to  Washington.  The  court 
being,  by  his  violent  course,  forced  to  take  sides,  naturally  sustained 
the  Commander-in-chief.  The  sentence  was  approved,  after  a  delay 
of  three  months  :  and  Lee,  in  a  passion  of  indignation,  retired  to  his 
estate  in  Virginia.  Here  he  lived  like  a  hermit.  His  personal  habits 
had  always  been  careless,  and  they  now  grew  more  so.  His  house 
was  a  mere  shell,  with  but  one  room,  which  by  lines  of  chalk  on  the 
floor  he  divided  into  his  kitchen,  his  study,  his  chamber,  and  a  place 
for  his  saddles  and  harness.  His  time  was  divided  between  his  dogs 
and  his  books.  It  was  while  in  this  retirement  that  he  wrote  the 
celebrated  "  Queries,  Political  and  Military,"  the  object  of  which 
was  to  depreciate  the  character  and  military  genius  of  Washington : 
these,  finding  their  way  into  the  Maryland  Journal,  raised  such  a 
storm  of  indignation  that  the  printer  had  to  make  a  public  apology 
and  surrender  the  name  of  the  author.  Shortly  after,  on  the  expira- 
tion of  his  term  of  suspension,  having  heard  a  rumor  that  Congress, 
from  motives  of  economy,  intended  to  dispense  with  his  services,  he 
penned  a  characteristic  and  insolent  letter  to  that  body,  which  pro- 
duced a  resolution  that  "  Major-General  Charles  Lee  be  informed 
that  Congress  have  no  further  occasion  for  his  services  in  the  army 
of  the  United  States."  In  reply,  Lee  wrote  an  apology  for  his  late 
epistle,  attributing  its  tone  to  the  fact  that  his  temper  was  ruffled  at 
the  time ;  wishing  Congress  success  in  the  cause  ;  yet  expressing  his 
intention,  by  this  letter,  not  to  be,  to  court  a  restoration  to  rank,  but 


CHARLES    LEE.  383 

to  excuse  his  late  indecorum  and  impropriety.  There  is  something 
redeeming  in  this  last  public  act  of  Lee  ;  something  of  the  wounded 
lion,  old  and  deserted,  closing  the  scene  with  dignity. 

The  bitter  malignity  which  Lee  displayed  towards  Washington, 
at  last  induced  Colonel  John  Laurens,  one  of  the  aids  of  the  Com- 
mander-in-chief, to  call  him  to  an  account.  A  duel  between  Laurens 
and  Lee  accordingly  took  place,  in  which  the  latter  received  a  ball 
in  his  side.  On  a  subsequent  occasion,  having  been  censured  by 
Chief  Justice  Drayton,  of  South  Carolina,  in  a  charge  to  a  grand  jury, 
Lee  angrily  sent  a  challenge  to  the  Judge,  which  the  latter,  however, 
declined,  alleging  that  such  a  mode  of  adjusting  the  difficulty  would 
be  inconsistent  with  his  official  character.  By  this  want  of  temper, 
Lee  managed  to  involve  himself  in  other  quarrels,  and  create  other 
enemies.  Meantime  his  skeptical  opinions  on  religion,  which  had 
now  become  generally  known,  led  a  large  portion  of  the  community 
to  regard  him  with  distrust.  In  short,  a  freethinker  in  every  thing, 
and  exercising  no  restraint  over  his  passions,  he  now  lost  all  his 
former  popularity,  and  was  falling  from  the  lofty  height  in  which 
he  had  formerly  stood,  like  some  star  suddenly  shooting  downwards, 
and  disappearing  in  the  abyss  of  space. 

The  life  of  an  agriculturalist  did  not  suit  him,  and  in  1782  he 
visited  Baltimore  and  Philadelphia,  intending  to  sell  his  estate  and 
afterwards  resolve  on  some  plan  of  life.  But  death  stepped  in  to 
put  a  close  to  his  schemes  and  his  vexations.  At  Philadelphia  he 
was  seized  with  a  fever  at  a  common  inn.  In  a  few  days,  notwith- 
standing the  skill  of  his  physicians,  the  unfortunate  man  finished  his 
mortal  career.  He  died  on  the  2nd  of  October,  1782,  in  the  fifty-first 
year  of  his  age.  His  closing  scene  has  a  grandeur  in  it  worthy  of 
his  earlier  fame.  He  lay  motionless  for  a  long  time,  muttering  inco- 
herently in  the  delirium  of  fever ;  but,  as  death  drew  on,  he  suddenly 
started  up  in  bed,  his  eye  kindled,  he  waved  his  hand,  and  shouting, 
"  Stand  by  me,  my  brave  grenadiers,"  fell  back  and  expired.  He 
was  interred  in  the  burial  ground  contiguous  to  Christ  Church,  where, 
long  since,  the  particular  spot  of  his  sepulture  has  been  lost  to  tra- 
dition. 

In  dismissing  the  character  of  Lee  we  can  add  little,  which  we  did 
not  say  in  the  beginning.  He  had  rnany  excellent  qualities,  and 
much  talent ;  but  in  temper  he  was  reckless,  bitter,  and  unforgiving. 
On  the  one  hand,  chivalrous,  generous,  constant  in  his  friendships  : 
on  the  other,  imprudent,  conceited,  relentless  in  his  hate.  He  never 
forgave  Washington  even  the  negative  part  which  that  great  and 
good  man  took  in  the  affair  of  Monrnouth.  In  public  and  private  he 


384 


THE  HEROES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 


vehemently  declaimed  against  the  Commander-in-chief,  to  whom  he 
attributed  those  misfortunes  which,  in  reality,  were  the  fruit  of  his 
own  passions.  With  many  noble  qualities,  and  every  advantage  in 
the  morning  of  life,  his  career  set,  at  last,  in  tempest  and  gloom  ! 


r' 


BENJAMIN   LINCOLN 


ENJAMIN  LINCOLN,  a  Major-General  in 
the  continental  line,  was  an  officer  of  re- 
spectable, though  not  of  superior  abilities. 
He  had  no  genius,  but  some  talent ;  was 
more  prudent  than  enterprising:  and  be- 
longed to  the  old  formal  school  in  the  art  of 
war.  Lincoln  was  one  of  the  unfortunate 
Generals  of  the  Revolution.  In  no  case 
where  he  commanded  in  person  did  victory  attend  our  arms.  Such 
a  continuation  of  disasters  could  not  have  been  accidental,  but  must 
have  arisen,  at  least  in  part,  from  some  peculiarity  in  himself.  It 
is  evident  that  Lincoln  was  a  leader  not  altogether  fitted  for  the 
times.  He  had  neither  the  irresistible  vehemence  of  Wayne,  nor  the 
comprehensive  intellect  of  Washington.  Yet  he  was  riot  a  bad  Gene- 
ral. His  conduct  was  unexceptionable,  judged  by  merely  critical 
rules.  No  one  can  fairly  censure  him  for  the  loss  of  Charleston,  for 
the  repulse  at  Savannah,  or  for  the  failure  of  the  attack  on  Stono 
49  HH  385 


386  BENJAMIN    LINCOLN. 

Ferry.     But  the  reflection  will  nevertheless  arise  that  a  commander 
of  greater  genius  might  have  effected  more. 

Lincoln  was  born  at  Hingham,  Massachusetts,  on  the  23rd  of 
January,  1733.  Until  about  the  period  of  the  Revolution  he  folio  wed 
the  vocation  of  a  farmer.  In  1775,  however,  he  was  elected  a  Lieu- 
tenant-Colonel of  the  militia,  and  subsequently  chosen  a  member  of  the 
Provincial  Congress.  In  1776,  he  was  commissioned  as  a  Brigadier 
by  his  native  state,  principally  on  account  of  his  extensive  influence. 
He  soon  displayed  an  aptitude  for  the  profession  of  arms  and  was 
of  great  assistance  in  preparing  the  militia  for  active  service.  The 
rank  of  Major-General  having  been  bestowed  on  him  by  Massachu- 
setts, he  commanded  a  body  of  militia  that  marched  to  join  the  main 
army  at  New  York.  Washington  speedily  discerned  that  the  abilities 
of  Lincoln  were  superior  to  those  of  the  great  mass  around  him,  and, 
anxious  to  secure  his  services  permanently,  recommended  him 
warmly  to  Congress.  In  consequence  he  was  appointed  a  Major- 
General  in  the  continental  line  in  February,  1777.  For  several 
months  subsequent  to  this  elevation,  he  continued  with  the  main  army 
under  Washington,  earning  a  solid  reputation  for  courage,  prudence 
and  accuracy  of  judgment. 

In  July,  1777,  he  was  detached  to  join  the  army  under  Gates. 
One  reason  for  his  selection  was  his  popularity  in  the  New  England 
states,  which  it  was  hoped  might  be  made  available  in  obtaining  re- 
cruits. He  first  repaired  to  Manchester,  in  Vermont,  where  a  depot 
had  been  formed  for  the  militia.  Here  as  the  different  companies  came 
in,  Lincoln  prepared  and  forwarded  them  to  the  main  body.  While 
at  this  post,  on  the  13th  of  September,  he  detached  Colonel  Brown, 
with  five  hundred  men,  to  Lake  George,  where  that  officer  conquered 
two  hundred  batteaux,  and  nearly  three  hundred  soldiers  of  the  ene- 
my, besides  liberating  one  hundred  American  prisoners.  This  vigor- 
ous blow,  struck  on  the  line  of  communications  of  Burgoyne,  was  a 
serious  evil  to  that  General.  From  the  hour  that  he  heard  of  it  he 
despaired  of  retreat.  Lincoln,  after  this  success,  despatched  two 
other  parties  against  Skeensborough  and  Mount  Independence,  and 
then  proceeded  to  join  Gates  at  head-quarters,  where  affairs  were 
rapidly  drawing  to  a  climax.  During  the  terrible  battle  of  the  7th 
of  October  he  commanded  within  the  lines,  and  consequently  escaped 
unhurt,  but  on  the  succeeding  day,  while  reconnditering  in  front  of 
the  army,  he  came  unexpectedly  upon  a  detachment  of  the  enemy. 
A  volley  being  discharged  at  him  and  his  Aids,  Lincoln  was  seriously 
wounded  in  the  leg,  and,  for  a  time  it  was  feared  that  the  limb  would 
have  to  be  amputated.  He  was  removed  at  first  to  Albany,  and 


BENJAMIN    LINCOLN.  387 

several  months  subsequently  to  his  residence  at  Hingham.  Nor 
was  it  until  August,  1778,  that  he  was  sufficiently  recovered  to  repair 
to  the  camp  of  Washington.  Meantime,  however,  large  portions  of 
the  bone  had  come  away  from  his  limb.  For  several  years  the  leg 
continued  in  an  ulcerated  condition,  and  being  shortened  by  the 
loss  of  bone,  rendered  him  lame  for  life. 

The  threatened  invasion  of  the  south  had  induced  that  section  of 
the  confederacy  to  apply  to  Congress  for  a  General  to  command  them 
in  the  Carolinas,  and  at  the  suggestion  of  the  leading  men  there,  Lin- 
coln was  elected  to  the  new  post.  He  arrived  at  Charleston  in  De- 
cember, 1778,  and  found  everything  in  confusion.  In  the  chaos  that 
reigned  in  all  the  various  departments,  in  the  want  of  supplies,  the 
disorganization  of  the  troops,  the  apathy  of  the  inhabitants,  Lincoln 
found  ample  exercise  for  energy,  application,  and  an  economic  use 
of  means.  He  inspired  confidence  by  his  bold  front,  gave  coherence 
to  the  raw  levies,  infused  a  military  spirit  among  all  classes,  and  this 
so  effectually  that,  in  a  few  months,  despondency  gave  place  to  ex- 
hilaration, and  instead  of  being  content  merely  to  defend  their  homes 
the  Carolinians  aspired  to  carry  the  war  into  the  heart  of  the  ene- 
my's positions  in  Georgia.  Lincoln  accordingly  marched  upon  that 
province  and  was  engaged  successfully  against  the  enemy  in  the 
u  pper  part  of  the  state,  when  Prevost,  the  British  General,  dexte- 
rously eluding  Moultrie,  who  had  been  left  to  watch  him,  advanced 
into  South  Carolina,  and  made  a  bold  dash  at  Charleston.  This 
hazardous  attempt  had  nearly  caused  the  fall  of  that  place.  Fortu- 
nately, however,  Lincoln,  apprized  of  his  enemy's  movements,  by  a 
rapid  countermarch,  arrived  before  the  capital  in  time  to  raise  the 
siege.  The  battle  of  Stono  Ferry  followed  ;  but,  though  the  Ameri- 
cans displayed  the  utmost  gallantry,  Prevost  succeeded  in  effecting 
his  escape. 

In  September,  1779,  Lincoln  commanded  the  continental  troops  at 
the  siege  of  Savannah  ;  and  when  the  fatal  assault  was  suggested  by 
d'Estaing,  remonstrated,  though  to  no  purpose  against  it.  The 
French  Admiral  refusing  to  remain  longer,  Lincoln  reluctantly  con- 
sented to  the  attack.  The  night  before  the  storm,  a  deserter  went 
over  to  the  enemy  and  gave  notice  of  the  intended  movement,  so  that 
Prevost  was  fully  prepared.  The  principal  assault  was  directed 
against  the  right  flank  of  the  works.  On  this  side,  a  swampy  hol- 
low, affording  cover,  led  up  to  within  fifty  yards  of  the  fortifications. 
The  allied  troops  were  marshalled  before  day,  the  French  in  three 
columns,  the  Americans  in  one.  D'Estaing  and  Lincoln  in  person 
marched  at  the  head  of  their  respective  forces.  The  darkness  was 


388  THE  HEROES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 

intense — scarcely  a  star  shining  on  high.  The  wind  wailing  through 
the  pines,  seemed  to  forbode  the  approaching  disaster.  The  army 
was  to  move  in  one  long  column  until  it  approached  the  edge  of  the 
wood,  when  it  was  to  break  off  into  the  different  columns  as  arranged, 
but  in  consequence  of  the  thick  gloom  the  troops  lost  their  way  and 
became  involved  in  the  swamp,  so  that  some  disorder  ensued.  At 
last,  however,  the  ranks  were  formed  anew,  and  the  first  column, 
headed  by  d'Estaing,  dashed  forward  to  the  walls.  The  day  was 
just  breaidng.  As  the  assailants  emerged  from  the  gray  fog  of  the 
hollow  way,  the  defenders  who  had  been  on  the  look  out  all  night, 
detected  the  flash  of  their  muskets,  and  opened  a  raking  fire  of  artil- 
lery that,  at  the  first  discharge,  decimated  the  column.  The  French 
staggered  an  instant,  but  soon  rallying,  pressed  on.  Again  that  tor- 
rent of  balls  and  grape  swept  past  them,  carrying  with  it  many  a 
brave  soldier,  and  shaking  the  column  to  its  centre.  Yet  still  the 
storming  party,  breasting  the  current,  endeavored  to  force  their  way 
into  the  works.  At  every  step,  however,  the  missiles  of  death,  like 
thick  falling  snow  flakes,  drove  wilder  and  faster  into  their  faces. 
When  they  reached  the  abatis  the  carnage  became  frightful.  The 
ground  soon  became  strewn  with  the  slain.  The  hardy  veteran 
who  had  passed  all  his  life  in  camps,  and  the  young  recruit 
fresh  from  the  banks  of  the  Loire  fell  together  side  by  side  ;  while 
the  officer,  as  he  mounted  the  fallen  body  of  some  soldier,  to  cheer 
on  his  men,  tumbled  dead  across  it.  Speedily,  a  confused  heap 
blocked  up  the  approach  to  the  ramparts,  the  blood  that  oozed  in  a 
thick  stream  from  the  mass  of  dead,  flowing  lazily  off  into  the 
morass.  The  first  column  broke  and  fled,  but  the  second  now  poured 
on  to  the  assault.  This,  in  turn,  recoiled,  when  the  third  came  dash- 
ing up.  D'Estaing,  gallantly  leading  his  men,  at  last  fell  wounded, 
and  had  to  be  carried  from  the  field.  The  troops,  however,  con- 
tinued the  attack,  though,  amid  the  smoke  and  fog,  nothing  could  be 
seen  of  their  progress,  except  now  and  then  a  banner  rising  and  fall- 
ing above  the  clouds  of  vapor,  like  a  sail  tossing  on  the  distant  surge  ! 
The  attack  of  the  Americans  was,  for  a  while,  more  successful. 
Headed  by  Colonel  Laurens,  the  gallant  band  pressed  forward,  in  face 
of  a  withering  fire,  on  the  Spring  Hill  redoubt,  and,  after  a  tremen- 
dous struggle,  a  part  succeeded  in  getting  into  the  ditch.  Serjeant 
Jasper,  in  charge  of  one  of  the  colors  of  the  second  regiment,  was 
among  the  foremost  in  the  assault,  and  while  the  precious  flag 
waved  aloft,  the  enthusiasm  of  the  men,  never,  for  an  instant, 
flagged  ;  but,  pressing  forward,  they  carried  everything  before  them. 
Across  the  plain ;  into  the  ditch ;  and  up  over  the  walls  the  living 


BENJAMIN    LINCOLN.  389 

tide  poured  on.  As  he  reached  the  ditch,  Jasper  received  a  second 
and  a  mortal  wound,  and  feeling  the  hand  of  death  upon  him,  turned 
feebly  to  Lieutenant  Bush  and  delivered  the  holy  charge  into  his 
hands.  The  new  standard-bearer  had  scarcely  received  the  deposit, 
when  a  grape  shot  struck  him,  and  he  tumbled  headlong  into  the 
ditch ;  but,  with  a  dying  effort,  he  grasped  the  flag,  and  fell  with 
his  body  across  it,  so  that,  after  the  battle,  it  was  picked  up  soaked 
with  his  blood.  The  other  standard  of  the  regiment,  however,  still 
waved  aloft,  its  familiar  folds,  though  riddled  by  shot,  fluttering  in 
the  van.  For  a  moment,  as  its  bearer  leaped  into  the  ditch,  it 
appeared  to  sink  under  the  tide  of  battle ;  but  soon  it  rose  again, 
and,  the  next  instant  was  seen  waving  proudly  on  the  enemy's  ram- 
parts. Inspired  by  the  sight,  the  column,  which  had  wavered  under 
the  terrible  fire,  rushed  forward,  and  endeavored  to  scale  the  walls. 
A  few  succeeded  in  the  attempt.  But  the  greater  number,  mowed 
down  by  the  incessant  discharges,  sank  at  the  foot  of  the  ramparts. 
In  vain  the  more  athletic  clambered  up  the  parapet.  Tempests  of  fire 
and  shot  swept  the  walls  and  hurled  them  back  into  the  ditch,  bleed- 
ing and  dying.  A  few,  for  a  second  or  two,  gained  a  foothold  in 
the  works.  But  the  British,  finding  others  did  not  arrive  to  support 
them,  made  a  sudden  charge  along  the  parapet,  and  pushed  the  suc- 
cessful assailants  down.  At  this  crisis,  Serjeant  Macdonald,  seeing 
that  retreat  was  inevitable,  and  unwilling  to  leave  the  standard  as  a 
trophy  to  the  foe,  seized  it,  and,  with  a  shout  of  defiance,  sprung 
back  into  the  ditch.  The  enemy,  following  up  his  advantage,  swept 
the  ditch  as  well  as  the  ramparts,  and,  excited  to  a  phrenzy  of 
enthusiasm,  pursued  the  retiring  foe  through  the  abatis,  and  even 
to  the  open  plain.  The  sally  was  as  rapid  as  a  flash  of  lightning, 
and  smote  the  assailants  with  a  like  terrible  effect.  The  whole  four 
columns  simultaneously  recoiled  from  those  blood-red  ramparts. 
The  fight  had  lasted  an  hour.  A  thousand  brave  men  had  fallen  in 
that  short  space,  and  now  lay  far  and  near  darkening  the  plain,  here 
scattered  about  along  the  line  of  retreat,  there  piled  in  heaps  where 
the  battle  had  raged  fiercest.  Struck  with  horror  at  the  spectacle, 
and  satisfied  that  a  second  assault  would  be  equally  abortive,  the 
allied  commanders,  after  that  last  terrible  repulse,  drew  off  their 
forces,  and  beat  a  parley  to  bury  the  dead.  Nine  days  subsequently 
the  siege  was  abandoned. 

Thus  ended  the  unfortunate  investment  of  Savannah.  Nor  was 
the  next  affair,  in  which  Lincoln  was  engaged,  more  triumphant :  we 
allude,  of  course,  to  the  fall  of  Charleston,  the  garrison  of  which  he 
commanded.  By  the  loss  of  that  capital,  and  the  army  collected 

HH* 


390  THE  HEROES  OP  THE  REVOLUTION. 

there,  the  whole  south  was  placed  at  the  mercy  of  the  foe ;  and  in 
consequence,  a  large  number  of  his  fellow  citizens  severely  censured 
Lincoln  for  attempting  to  defend  the  town.  But  the  three  months 
delay  gained  by  the  siege  was  no  unimportant  advantage.  It  is 
easy,  at  this  day,  to  state  that  errors  were  committed ;  but  it  is  diffi- 
cult to  say  how  they  could  have  been  corrected  at  the  time.  The 
Carolinians  placed  an  undue  importance  on  their  capital,  insisting 
that  it  should  be  defended  to  the  last  extremity ;  and,  as  Lincoln  had 
been  promised  reinforcements  from  the  north,  he  considered  himself 
imperatively  bound  to  yield  to  their  wishes.  What  General,  in  the 
same  circumstances,  would  have  done  otherwise  ?  For  the  last  fort- 
night of  the  siege  he  was  on  the  lines  night  and  day,  without  once 
undressing.  In  consequence  of  the  capitulation,  Lincoln  became  a 
prisoner  of  war,  but  in  1781  he  was  exchanged,  and  joined  the  main 
army  in  time  to  witness  the  surrender  of  Yorktown.  On  that  auspi- 
cious occasion  Washington  delegated  to  him  the  task  of  receiving 
the  sword  of  Cornwallis,  an  honor  delicately  proffered  by  the 
Commander-in-chief,  in  order  to  heal  the  lacerated  feelings  of  Lin- 
coln. For,  throughout  all  the  adverse  fortunes  of  the  latter,  Wash- 
ington continued  his  advocate  and  friend,  insisting  that,  at  the  worst, 
the  argument  in  favor  of  defence  at  Charleston,  had  been  as  potent 
as  that  against  it ! 

In  October,  1781,  Lincoln  was  chosen  Secretary  of  War,  in  which 
office  he  remained  two  years.  He  now  retired  to  his  farm.  But 
in  1786,  when  the  insurrection  of  Shay  occurred,  Lincoln  was 
appointed  to  command  the  militia  called  out  to  sustain  the  laws. 
Through  his  prudence  and  energy  the  rebellion  was  extinguished 
with  scarcely  any  bloodshed.  In  1787,  he  was  elected  Lieutenant- 
Govemor  of  Massachusetts.  In  1789,  he  was  appointed  by  the 
President  collector  for  the  port  of  Boston.  On  various  occasions  he 
acted  as  a  Commissioner  to  make  treaties  with  the  Indians.  He 
lived  until  the  10th  of  May,  1810,  when  he  died  after  a  short  illness. 


ANTHONY    WAYNE. 

NTHONY  WAYNE,  a 

Major-General  'in  the 
American  army,  was  the 
Ney  of  the  war  of  in- 
dependence. A  braver 
man,  perhaps,  never 
lived.  His  name,  in- 
deed, has  passed  into  a 
synonyme  for  all  that 
is  headlong  and  unap- 
proachable in  courage. 
Men  of  Wayne's  class 
have  been,  in  all  ages,  the  favorites  of  the  masses.  The  refinements 
of  a  great  strategic  genius  are  above  the  comprehension  of  common 
minds,  but  any  individual,  however  ordinary  in  intellect,  can  appre- 
ciate an  indomitable  spirit.  What  Decatur  was  to  the  navy,  that 
Wayne  was  to  the  army !  There  was  nothing  he  feared  to  attempt. 

He  would  do  not  only  what  others  dared,  but  more.    His  active  and 

391 

•*. 
•  •    />*» 


392  THE  HEROES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 

irrepressible  energy  hurried  him  forward  on  a  battle-field  to  make 
attempts  which  often  succeeded  from  their  very  audacity.  An 
instance  of  this  occurred  at  Jamestown  Ferry,  where  he  saved  his 
corps  from  annihilation  by  charging  a  force,  five  times  in  number, 
with  the  bayonet.  He  stood  alone  among  the  American  Generals 
in  the  terrible  power  which  he  infused  into  a  column  of  attack.  Had 
he  been  one  of  Napoleon's  Marshals  he  would  have  rivalled  Mac- 
donald  at  Wagram,  or  Ney  at  Waterloo.  He  swooped  across  a 
battle-field  like  an  eagle  striking  at  its  prey.  If  he  had  lived  in  the 
old  heroic  age  he  would  have  gone,  like  Hercules,  to  drag  Cerberus 
from  the  gates  of  hell. 

Wayne  was  born  in  Chester  county,  Pennsylvania,  on  the  1st  of 
January,  1 745.  Even  while  a  boy  he  evinced  military  spirit.  His 
preceptor  writing  to  the  father,  in  reference  to  Wayne,  said,  "  One 
thing  I  am  certain  of,  he  will  never  make  a  scholar.  He  may  make 
a  soldier :  he  has  already  distracted  the  brains  of  two-thirds  of  the 
boys,  under  my  direction,  by  rehearsals  of  battles  and  sieges."  The 
old  schoolmaster,  however,  was  not  exactly  correct  in  his  estimate : 
for  Wayne,  having  been  censured  by  his  father,  in  consequence  of 
this  epistle,  applied  himself  from  that  hour  laboriously  to  his  books, 
and  was  finally  dismissed  with  a  certificate  that,  "  having  acquired 
all  that  his  master  could  teach,  he  merited  the  means  of  higher  and 
more  general  instruction."  Wayne  accordingly  was  sent  to  the 
Philadelphia  Academy.  Here  he  remained  until  his  eighteenth 
year,  when  he  returned  to  Chester  county,  and  assumed  the  profes- 
sion of  a  surveyor.  A  company  of  merchants  having  associated  to 
purchase  lands  in  Nova  Scotia,  Wayne  was  chosen  as  surveyor,  on 
the  recommendation  of  Dr.  Franklin,  over  numerous  competitors. 
He  was  at  this  period  but  twenty-one  years  of  age,  and  the  choice 
proves  the  reputation  for  talent  which  he  had  even  then  obtained. 
In  1767  he  married  and  settled  permanently  in  his  native  county. 
Here  he  served  as  a  member  of  the  Legislature  and  of  the  Committee 
of  Public  Safety.  As  early  as  1764,  convinced  that  war  was  inevi- 
table, he  began  to  apply  himself  to  the  study  of  military  science. 
He  raised  a  corps  of  volunteers,  and  devoted  his  leisure  to  drilling 
them,  with  such  success,  as  one  of  his  biographers  asserts,  that  in 
six  weeks  they  had  "more  the  appearance  of  a  veteran  than  a 
militia  regiment." 

In  January,  1776,  he  was  appointed  by  Congress  Colonel  of  one 
of  the  regiments  to  be  raised  in  Pennsylvania.  He  soon  filled  his 
ranks,  and  early  in  the  spring,  was  ordered  to  Canada.  In  the  ex- 
pedition against  Three  Rivers  he  signalized  himself  by  his  daring 


ANTHONY    WAYNE.  393 

bravery,  and  also  during  the  subsequent  retreat,  so  that  he  began 
already  to  be  spoken  of  as  one  certain  to  rise  to  eminence.  He  was 
wounded  in  this  campaign.  In  February,  1777,  he  was  appointed  a 
Brigadier.  He  joined  Washington  in  May  of  that  year,  and  rendered 
such  important  aid  in  driving  the  enemy  from  New  Jersey,  that  the 
Commander-in-chief  spoke  of  him  with  especial  approbation,  in  his 
official  report  to  Congress  in  June,  1777.  When  it  became  evident 
that  Howe  was  about  to  attack  Philadelphia,  Wayne  was  sent  to  his 
native  county  to  raise  the  militia  there.  In  the  action  of  the  Bran- 
dywine,  Wayne  commanded  at  Chad's  Ford.  On  this  occasion  his 
troops  particularly  distinguished  themselves.  The  Pennsylvania  line 
had  already  become  celebrated  for  its  high  state  of  discipline,  and  to 
this  was  now  added  a  reputation  for  unshrinking  courage  in  the  field 
— characteristics  which  it  never  lost  throughout  the  war,  and  for 
which  it  was  mainly  indebted  to  the  example  and  instructions  of 
Wayne.  On  the  llth  of  September,  five  days  after  the  battle  of 
Brandywine,  the  American  army  had  completely  recovered  from  its 
defeat ;  and  the  van,  led  by  General  Wayne,  had  actually  come  into 
contact  with  the  enemy,  with  the  intention  of  giving  battle,  when  a 
storm  arose  and  separated  the  combatants. 

Washington,  discovering  that  Howe  still  lingered  in  his  vicinity, 
despatched  Wayne  to  watch  the  enemy's  movements,and  when  joined 
by  Smallwood  and  the  Maryland  militia,  to  cut  off  the  baggage  and 
hospital  train.  Wayne  accordingly  hovered  on  the  enemy's  rear,  but 
not  being  joined  by  Smallwood,  was  able  to  effect  nothing.  Mean- 
time the  British  were  meditating  an  attack  on  his  position.  Wayne 
received  a  partial  notice  of  the  intended  surprise  about  an  hour  be- 
fore it  occurred,  but  the  information  was  not  sufficiently  reliable  to 
induce  him  to  shift  his  position.  He  held  his  men  in  readiness,  how- 
ever. At  eleven  o'clock,  and  while  it  was  raining,  the  enemy  sud- 
denly appeared  in  sight.  Wayne  immediately  ordered  a  retreat. 
The  artillery  and  larger  portion  of  his  force,  he  directed  to  move 
off  under  Colonel  Hampton;  while  he  remained  in  person,  with  the  first 
Pennsylvania  regiment,  the  light  infantry  and  the  horse^  to  cover  the 
rear.  Through  negligence  or  misapprehension,  Hampton  did  not  put 
his  troops  into  motion  until  three  distinct  orders  had  been  sent  to  do 
so  ;  and  in  consequence  about  one  hundred  and  fifty  of  his  men 
were  cut  off  and  bayonetted  by  the  British.  The  real  offender, 
Hampton,  in  order  to  exonerate  himself,  charged  the  misfortune  to 
the  negligence  of  Wayne.  A  court-martial  accordingly  was  sum- 
moned, the  verdict  of  which  not  only  exculpated  the  General,  but 
declared  he  had  done  everything  that  could  be  expected  of  an  active, 
50 


394  THE  HEROES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 

brave  and  vigilant  officer.  This  affair  has  been  misrepresented  in 
popular  history  as  a  surprise,  followed  by  an  indiscriminate  slaughter, 
and  is  generally  known  as  the  Paoli  massacre. 

At  the  battle  of  Germantown,  Wayne  led  one  division  of  the  right 
wing  ;  and  in  the  retreat  saved  the  army,  by  throwing  up  a  battery 
at  White  Marsh  Church.  During  the  winter  at  Valley  Forge,  Wayne 
was  despatched  to  New  Jersey,  which  he  foraged  from  Bordentown 
to  Salem,  and  succeeded  in  bringing  very  important  supplies  to  camp, 
though  not  until  after  many  sharp  skirmishes  with  the  enemy.  In 
the  obstinate  contest  at  Monmouth  he  signalized  himself  by  the  most 
daring  courage,  and  was  one  of  the  few  who  sided  with  Washington 
in  recommending  a  battle.  For  his  conduct  on  this  day  he  was 
particularly  commended  to  Congress  by  the  Commander-in-chief. 
Nothing  of  importance  occurred  in  Wayne's  career  after  this,  until 
the  storming  of  Stony  Point,  which  took  place  on  the  15th  of  July, 
1779.  This  is  the  most  brilliant  affair  of  the  war  of  independence. 
Stony  Point  is  a  precipitous  hill,  on  the  western  shore  of  the  Hudson, 
completely  commanding  King's  Ferry,  the  then  ordinary  communi- 
cation between  the  middle  and  eastern  states.  It  had  been  seized 
by  the  British,  who  declared  their  intention  to  make  it  impregnable. 
Nature  had  already  done  much  to  assist  their  design.  The  hill  was 
washed  by  the  river  on  two  of  its  sides,  and  covered  on  the  third  by 
a  marsh,  overflowed  except  at  low  tide.  The  enemy  encircled  this 
hill  with  a  double  row  of  abatis,  and  erected  on  its  summit  a  strong 
breastwork  bristling  with  artillery.  Six  hundred  veteran  troops 
were  assigned  as  the  garrison  of  the  place.  Washington  sent  for 
Wayne  and  proposed  that  the  latter  should  assault  it,  at  the  head  of 
a  picked  corps.  Though  the  British  had  been  foiled  at  Bunker  Hill, 
under  exactly  similar  circumstances,  Wayne  did  not  hesitate  an 
instant  in  expressing  his  willingness  for  the  task,  or  his  confidence  in 
success.  Tradition  has  even  placed  in  his  mouth  this  characteristic 
reply  to  the  Commander-in-chief's  suggestion,  "General,  if  you  will 
only  plan  it,  I  will  storm  h-11." 

Wayne  began  his  march  from  Sandy  Beach,  about  fourteen  miles 
distant  from  Stony  Point,  and  by  eight  o'clock  in  the  evening  arrived 
within  a  mile  and  a  half  of  his  destination.  He  now  made  his  final 
arrangements,  and  at  half  after  eleven  was  once  more  in  motion. 
The  night  had  no  moon,  but  the  stars  were  out,  and  the  deep 
shadows  of  the  hill  lay  in  huge  black  masses  on  the  water,  as  the 
little  army  arrived  at  the  morass.  Across  the  Hudson,  Verplank's 
Point  was  seen,  rising  huge  and  dark  from  the  river  shore.  The 
time  appointed  for  the  attack  had  been  midnight,  but  the  uneven 


ANTHONY    WAYNE.  395 

nature  of  the  ground  had  protracted  the  march,  and  it  was  now 
twenty  minutes  past  that  hour.  The  assault  was  arranged  to  be  in 
two  columns,  one  of  the  right,  and  the  other  of  the  left,  which, 
entering  the  fort  at  opposite  corners,  were  to  meet  in  its  centre.  The 
regiments  of  Febiger  and  Meigs,  with  Hull's  detachment,  formed  the 
column  of  the  right :  that  of  the  left  was  composed  of  the  regiment 
of  Butler,  and  Murphy's  detachment.  They  were  all  troops  in  whom 
Wayne  had  confidence,  mostly  of  the  Pennsylvania  line,  brave  to  a 
man !  Each  column  was  preceded  by  an  advanced  party.  That 
on  the  right,  of  one  hundred  and  fifty  men,  was  led  by  Lieutenant- 
Colonel  Herny;  that  on  the  left,  of  one  hundred,  was  led  by  Major 
Stewart.  Two  forlorn  hopes  of  twenty  men  each,  went  first,  one 
commanded  by  Lieutenant  Gibbon  of  the  sixth,  and  the  other  by 
Lieutenant  Knox  of  the  ninth  Pennsylvania  regiments.  The  forlorn 
hopes  marched  with  axes  to  cut  away  the  abatis  :  behind  them  went 
the  two  advanced  parties,  with  unloaded  muskets ;  then  came  the 
main  body  of  each  column.  Wayne  placed  himself  at  the  head  of 
Febiger's  regiment.  "  The  first  man  that  fires  his  piece  shall  be  cut 
down,"  was  his  short  address,  "trust  to  the  bayonet.  March  on!" 
The  troops  had  nearly  crossed  the  morass  before  the  enemy  took 
the  alarm.  But  when  the  head  of  the  column  approached  firm  land, 
the  drum  within  the  works  was  heard  beating  to  arms,  and  instan- 
taneously the  sounds  of  hurried  feet  and  other  signs  of  commotion 
came,  borne  by  the  night  breeze,  from  the  summit  of  the  hill.  The 
forlorn  hope  sprang  forward,  knowing  that  not  a  second  was  to  be 
lost,  and  began  to  cut  away  the  abatis,  the  column  behind  pressing 
densely  on.  The  first  blow  of  the  axe  had  scarcely  struck  the  pali- 
sades when  the  rampart  streamed,  right  and  left,  with  fire,  and  the 
next  moment,  a  torrent  of  grape-shot  and  musket-balls  tore  furiously 
down  the  hill.  Seventeen  of  the  twenty  members  of  the  forlorn  hope 
led  by  Lieutenant  Gibbons  fell.  But  the  advanced  party  immedi-. 
ately  rushed  on  to  fill  their  places:  the  palisades  were  thrown 
down  ;  and  the  column,  like  a  solid  wedge,  advanced  steadily  up 
the  ascent.  The  fire  of  the  enemy  continued  without  cessation, 
showers  of  grape  and  musketry  raining  down  on  the  assailants. 
But,  stooping  their  heads  to  the  storm,  the  men,  with  fixed  bayo- 
nets, and  in  perfect  silence,  rapidly  pushed  on.  The  hill  shook 
beneath  the  concussions,  as  if  an  earthquake  was  passing.  Shells 
hissed  through  the  air,  like  fiery  serpents,  and  plunging  into  the 
ranks  of  the  Americans,  tore  them  asunder  with  terrific  explosions. 
Hurricanes  of  grape  swept  the  lines,  levelling  whole  lanes  of  soldiers. 
As  Wayne  marched  in  the  van,  a  musket  ball  striking  him  in  the 


396 


THE  HEROES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 


forehead,  prostrated  him,  but  staggering  to  his  feet,  the  wounded 
hero  cried,  "  March  on,  carry  me  into  the  fort,  I  will  die  at  the  head 
of  the  column."  Seizing  their  leader,  the  men,  at  these  words, 


STORMING   OF   STONT   POINT 


rushed  headlong  forward.  The  incessant  rattle  of  musketry,  the 
roar  of  artillery,  the  crashing  of  grape-shot,  and  the  lurid  light  flung 
over  the  scene  by  the  explosions  of  shells  and  by  the  streams  of  fire 
pouring  from  the  fort  were  enough  to  appal  the  stoutest  hearts ;  but 
the  Americans,  nothing  daunted,  pressed  steadily  forward,  advancing 
at  quick -step  up  the  hill,  and  sweeping  like  a  living  wave  over  the 
ramparts  of  the  enemy.  In  vain  the  British  maintained  their  de- 
structive and  incessant  fire :  in  vain,  when  the  assailants  reached 
the  fort,  the  defenders  met  them,  breast  to  breast :  silent,  steady, 
with  unbroken  front,  the  Americans  moved  on,  pushing  the  enemy, 
by  main  force,  from  his  walls,  and  bearing  down  every  thing  before 
their  torrent  of  glittering  steel.  The  two  columns  were  not  a  minute 
apart  in  entering  their  respective  sides  of  the  fort,  and  met,  victo- 
riously, in  the  middle  of  the  enclosure.  Here,  for  the  first  time,  the 
silence  of  the  Americans  was  broken ;  for,  finding  the  place  their 
own,  loud  and  continued  shouts  rent  the  air.  The  enemy  was  now 
supplicating  for  quarters  on  all  sides.  Arid  though  the  assailants 


ANTHONY    WAYNE.  397 

would  have  been  justified,  by  the  laws  of  war,  in  putting  the  gar- 
rison to  death,  every  man  was  spared  who  asked  for  quarter,  nor 
was  a  solitary  individual  injured  after  the  surrender.  The  whole 
loss  of  the  Americans  was  about  one  hundred.  The  British  suffered 
in  killed,  wounded  and  captured,  six  hundred  and  seven. 

For  this  gallant  action,  Wayne  received  a  gold  medal  from  Con- 
gress. Washington  wrote,  "  He  improved  on  the  plan  recommended 
by  me,  and  executed  it  in  a  manner  that  does  honor  to  his  judgment 
and  bravery."  Lee,  who  had  lately  had  a  difference  with  Wayne, 
forgot  it  in  the  admiration  of  this  dashing  enterprise,  and  in  a  com- 
plimentary letter,  said,  "  I  do  most  sincerely  declare,  that  your  assault 
of  Stony  Point  is  not  only  the  most  brilliant,  in  my  opinion,  through- 
out the  whole  course  of  the  war  on  either  side,  but  that  it  is  the  most 
brilliant  I  am  acquainted  with  in  history;  the  assault  of  Schweidnitz 
by  Marshal  Laudon,  I  think  inferior  to  it."  The  credit  of  this  splen- 
did action  is  chiefly  due  to  the  Pennsylvania  line,  from  which  most 
of  the  storming  party  were  drawn.  No  veteran  European  troops 
could  have  behaved  with  more  resolution.  It  is  not  known  that  a 
single  trigger  was  pulled,  on  the  part  of  the  Americans,  during  the 
assault.  The  thanks  of  Congress,  and  of  the  Pennsylvania  Legislature 
were  unanimously  bestowed  on  the  officers  and  soldiers  engaged  in 
this  gallant  exploit.  The  wound  of  Wayne,  on  examination,  proved 
slight ;  and  he  was  able,  an  hour  after  the  victory,  to  write  the  fol- 
lowing characteristic  letter  to  Washington. 

*  «  •  *  • 

"  DEAR  GENERAL  : — 

"  The  fort  and  garrison,  with  Colonel  Johnston,  are  ours.     Our 
officers  and  men  behaved  like  men  who  are  determined  to  be  free. 
"  Yours,  most  sincerely, 

"ANTHONY  WAYNE." 

In  July,  1780,  Wayne  was  employed  in  beating  up  the  refugees  of 
East  Jersey,  and  on  the  20th  of  that  month  made  a  gallant,  though 
not  altogether  successful  attack  on  their  depot  at  Bergen  Neck.  The 
next  event  in  the  life  of  Wayne  was  the  revolt  of  the  Pennsylvania 
line,  and  his  agency  in  restoring  order.  The  cause  of  this  mutiny  was 
entirely  owing  to  the  misery  of  the  troops.  Had  common  justice  been 
awarded  these  brave  men  they  never  would  have  risen  against  Con- 
gress ;  but  when  to  a  neglect  of  pay,  and  a  want  of  provisions,  was 
added  a  fraudulent  attempt  to  increase,  the  term  for  which  they  had 
enlisted,  the  soldiers  naturally  rebelled.  A  few  unquestionably  took 
advantage  of  the  mutiny  to  leave  a  service  of  which  they  were  tired-, 

ii 


398 


THE  HEROES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 


but  that  the  majority  of  the  Pennsylvania  line  deserves  censure, 
no  one,  who  understands  the  facts,  is  now  prepared  to  say.  The 
mutineers  refused  all  the  offers  of  Sir  Henry  Clinton,  returning  the 


GENERAL   WAYNE    ATTEMPTING    TO  QCBU.  THE   MUTINT    OF   THE  TEOOKi. 


memorable  answer  that  "their  patience,  but  not  their  patriotism, 
was  exhausted."  Justice  has  never  been  done  the  common  soldiers 
of  the  Revolution.  Those  humble,  but  brave  men,  endured  every 
extremity  of  hunger,  cold,  and  privation,  and,  at  last,  after  years  of 
service,  were  dismissed  unrewarded,  to  beg  their  way  home.  No 
honors  alleviated  their  misery,  no  prospect  of  plenty  cheered  their 
despondency.  They  were  thrown  aside  like  useless  lumber  that  is 
no  longer  required.  They  saw  the  very  persons  whose  liberties  they 
fought  to  win  active  in  doing  injustice  to  them,  and  others  making 
fortunes  out  of  their  necessities.  What  wonder  they  revolted  !  Few 
of  the  New  England  troops  enlisted  for  such  long  terms  as  those  of 
the  middle  states,  and  consequently  were  spared  the  protracted  suf- 
ferings endured  year  after  year,  by  the  Pennsylvania  line.  We 


ANTHONY    WAYNE.  399 

may  deplore  this  munity,  on  account  of  its  pernicious  example,  but 
certainly  never  had  mutineers  such  provocation  ! 

On  the  7th  of  June,  1781,  Wayne  joined  La  Fayette  in  Virginia, 
with  the  remains  of  the  Pennsylvania  Line,  now  reduced  to  eleven 
hundred  rank  and  file.  On  hearing  of  the  junction  of  the  two 
Generals,  Lord  Cornwallis  retreated  to  Williamsburg,  and  on  the 
5th  of  July,  still  retiring,  prepared  to  cross  the  river  James  at 
Jamestown  Ferry.  La  Fayette,  believing  that  most  of  the  British 
force  had  crossed,  despatched  Wayne  with  seven  hundred  men  to 
attack  the  remainder.  But,  after  driving  in  the  pickets,  Wayne 
found  himself  in  the  presence  of  the  whole  British  army,  instead  of 
the  rear  guard.  The  enemy  was  but  a  hundred  paces  distant,  and 
perceiving  his  small  force,  extended  his  wings  to  enclose  Wayne. 
This  was  just  such  a  crisis  as  fully  awoke  the  genius  of  the  Ameri- 
can General.  He  saw  that  to  retreat  then  would  be  ruin,  and 
accordingly  he  ordered  his  men  to  charge  with  the  bayonet.  The 
little  band,  obedient  to  his  word,  dashed  forward.  The  British,  so 
lately  on  the  point  of  advancing,  fell  back,  confident,  from  Wayne's 
bold  front,  that  he  was  supported  by  a  large  force  near  at  hand.  By 
this  stroke  the  British  were  checked,  and  Wayne  enabled  to  retire 
without  being  pursued.  No  incident  of  the  war  is  more  characteris- 
tic of  the  impetuous  yet  sagacious  genius  of  Wayne  than  this  affair. 
Cornwallis  continued  his  retreat  to  Yorktown,  where,  three  months 
later,  he  surrendered  to  Washington.  Wayne  was  present  at  that 
siege,  and,  with  his  gallant  troops,  was  of  great  service. 

After  the  fall  of  the  British  army,  Wayne  was  despatched  to 
Georgia,  his  instructions  being  to  bring  that  state  under  the  authority 
of  the  confederation.  His  command  consisted  of  about  one  hundred 
dragoons,  three  hundred  continentals,  and  three  hundred  militia :  yet 
with  this  paltry  force,  in  little  more  than  a  month,  he  chased  the 
British  from  the  interior  of  the  state  and  defeated  the  Creeks,  their 
allies.  On  the  20th  of  May,  1782,  he  surprised  a  portion  of  the 
Indians  at  Ogechee,  and  repulsed  them  with  great  slaughter:  and 
three  days  afterwards  he  met  the  remainder  and  almost  exterminated 
them.  On  the  12th  of  July,  1782,  the  British  evacuated  Georgia. 
Wayne  was  now  ordered  to  South  Carolina  by  General  Greene, 
Commander-in-chief  ol  the  southern  department,  who  complimented 
him  highly  on  his  address,  sagacity,  prudence  and  energy  during  the 
late  campaign.  After  this,  no  especial  occasion  arose  for  the  services 
of  Wayne,  until  the  evacuation  of  Charleston,  but  on  that  eventful 
day  he  commanded  the  advanced  guard  of  the  Americans,  to  whom 


400 


THE  HEROES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 


was  entrusted  the  taking  possession  of  the  town.  Wayne's  troops 
entered  the  city  as  soon  as  the  British  began  their  march  to  the 
water-side,  and  followed  up  the  enemy  so  closely  that  the  royal 
soldiers  frequently  turned  and  said  "You  press  too  fast  upon  us." 
On  this,  Wayne  would  check  his  troops,  but,  in  a  few  minutes,  in 
their  exhilaration,  they  would  again  be  at  the  heels  of  the  foe :  and 
thus,  with  martial  music  playing  triumphant  airs,  and  the  windows 
crowded  with  ladies  waving  handkerchiefs  in  welcome,  the  long 
banished  Americans  re-entered  Charleston! 

In  July,  1783,  Wayne  returned  to  civil  life,  settling  in  his  native 
state.  In  1784  he  was  elected  a  member  of  the  Pennsylvania  Le- 
gislature, and  served  for  two  sessions.  In  1792,  after  the  defeat  of 
St.  Clair,  Wayne  was  appointed,  by  Washington,  to  the  command 
of  the  United  States  army.  This  selection,  under  the  circumstances, 
proves  the  high  estimate  formed  by  the  President,  of  Wayne's  abili- 
ties. On  the  1  st  of  September,  1793,  having  vainly  tried  to  negotiate 


GENERAL   WAYNE'S   DEFEAT   OF   THE   INDIANS   ON   THE  MIAMI 


with  the  savages,  Wayne  formed  a  camp  near  Cincinnati,  and  devoted 
his  time,  for  the  next  month,  to  drilling  his  troops.    He  then  removed 


ANTHONY    WAYNE.  401 

to  a  location  he  had  selected  on  one  of  the  branches  of  the  big  Miami 
River,  and  here  established  his  winter  quarters.  About  the  middle 
of  the  ensuing  year,  having  been  reinforced  by  a  body  of  mounted 
volunteers  from  Kentucky,  he  marched  to  attack  the  enemy,  who 
had  encamped  near  the  Rapids,  in  the  vicinity  of  a  British  fort, 
erected  in  defiance  of  the  treaty.  The  van  of  his  army  consisting 
of  mounted  volunteers,  was  first  attacked,  and  with  such  im- 
petuosity as  to  be  driven  in.  Wayne  immediately  formed  his 
army  in  two  lines.  He  soon  found  that  the  Indians  were  in  full 
force  in  front,  concealed  in  high  grass  and  woods,  and  were 
endeavoring  to  turn  his  left  flank.  Accordingly  he  ordered  the 
first  line  to  advance  with  the  bayonet,  and  rouse  the  savages 
from  their  coverts;  at  the  same  time  he  directed  the  mounted  vol-, 
unteers  and  the  legion  of  cavalry  to  turn  the  right  and  left  flanks 
of  the  enemy  respectively.  The  front  line  advanced  with  such 
rapidity  that  neither  the  second  line  which  had  been  commanded  to 
support  it,  nor  the  cavalry  on  the  flanks,  could  come  up  in  time :  the 
Indians  being  started  from  their  hiding  places  by  the  prick  of  the 
bayonet,  and  driven  in  terror  and  dismay,  for  two  miles  in  less  than 
an  hour,  by  half  their  number.  The  savages  numbered  about  two 
thousand  in  this  battle.  After  the  victory,  the  commander  of  the 
British  fort  having  sent  notice  to  Wayne,  not  to  approach  within 
reach  of  the  fire  of  his  fort,  the  American  General,  with  becoming 
spirit,  burnt  every  thing  of  value  within  sight  of  the  works,  and  up 
to  the  very  muzzles  of  the  guns.  This  signal  defeat  of  the  Indians 
led  to  the  treaty  of  Greenville,  by  which  large  accessions  of  territory 
were  gained  for  the  United  States.  It  struck  such  terror  into  the 
savages  that,  for  nearly  twenty  years,  there  was  no  attempt  on  their 
part  to  renew  the  struggle.  Nor  was  this  all ;  for  the  British,  who 
had  fomented  these  disturbances,  finding  that  their  machinations 
xvould  be  of  no  avail,  soon  after  consented  to  the  Jay  treaty,  and 
abandoned  the  posts  they  had  illegally  seized.  Through  the  whole 
of  this  Indian  campaign,  as  through  that  in  Georgia,  Wayne  evinced 
equal  prudence,  sagacity  and  boldness. 

Wayne  died  at  Presque  Isle,  from  an  attack  of  the  gout,  on  the 
15th  of  December,  1796.  He  was  on  his  return  from  the  west, 
whither  he  had  gone  to  treat  with  the  north-western  Indians,  and 
receive  the  surrender  of  the  British  military  posts.  In  1809  his 
remains  were  transported  to  the  burial  ground  of  Radnor  Church, 
in  Chester  county,  Pennsylvania.  A  monument,  erected  by  the 
Pennsylvania  State  Society  of  Cincinnati,  marks  the  present  spot  of 
his  interment. 

51  n* 


402 


THE  HEROES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 


The  soubriquet  of  "Mad  Anthony,"  by  which  Wayne  was  popu- 
larly known  in  the  Revolution,  was  first  applied  to  him  by  a  witless 
fellow  about  the  camp,  and  was  immediately  adopted  by  the  soldiers 
as  expressive  of  his  daring  and  headlong  courage. 


COUNT     PULASKI. 


OUNT  Casimir  Pulaski, 
General  of  Cavalry  in  the 
American  array,  was  born 
in   Poland,  in  the    year 
1747.     By  birth  and  alli- 
ance  he   was   connected 
with  some  of  the  noblest 
families  of  that  kingdom, 
especially  with  the  prince- 
ly house  of  Czartorinsky. 
He  came  of  age  at  a  criti- 
cal period.     The  election 
of  Poniato  wsky,  produced 
||  as   it  had    been  by  the 
armed  interference  ofRus- 
sia,  instigated  a  portion  of 
the  nation  to  revolt,  and, 
at  the  head  of  the  insur- 
gents stood  the  father  of  Pulaski.     The  sons  of  this  patriot,  then 

scarcely  arrived  at  manhood,  embarked  in  the  cause  with  enthusiasm, 

403 


404  THE  HEKOES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 

and,  in  the  civil  war  that  followed,  between  the  confederates  and  the 
monarch,  signally  distinguished  themselves.  Casimir  Pulaski  soon 
became  renowned  for  his  exploits  as  a  cavalry  officer.  One  by  one 
his  relatives  fell  in  the  struggle,  yet  still  he  maintained  the  contest. 
At  last,  an  abortive  attempt  to  carry  off  the  person  of  the  king, 
having  been  represented  as  an  effort  at  his  assasination,  the  odium 
became  so  universal  that  all  who  participated  in  it,  directly  or  indi- 
rectly, thought  it  advisable  to  leave  the  kingdom.  Among  these  was 
Casimir  Pulaski,  who  had  been  in  the  secrets  of  the  conspirators, 
though  without  any  active  share  in  the  attempt.  Before  he  bade 
adieu  to  his  native  soil  forever  he  published  a  manifesto,  in  which 
he  declared  his  innocence  of  the  crime  imputed  to  him.  His  de- 
parture was  hastened  by  the  arrival  of  Austrian  and  Prussian  troops, 
which  now  began  to  pour  into  Poland,  ostensibly  to  protect  her 
monarch,  but  in  reality  to  prepare  for  her  partition. 

Thus,  at  the  age  of  twenty-five,  Pulaski  found  himself  an  exile, 
homeless,  fatherless,  without  brothers,  without  friends.  But  his 
name  had  gone  before  him.  The  memory  of  his  miraculous  escapes 
from  the  Russians,  of  the  gallantry  with  which  he  had  so  often  de- 
feated them,  of  his  generosity,  patriotism  and  nobleness  of  heart  was 
everywhere  vivid  in  Europe ;  and  when,  towards  the  close  of  the 
year  1776,  he  suddenly  appeared  in  Paris,  after  almost  incredible 
perils  and  adventures  in  Turkey,  he  became  the  centre  of  curiosity 
to  that  mercuial  capital.  But  his  intention  was  not  to  remain  in 
France.  The  American  Revolution  was  beginning  to  attract  the 
eyes  of  Europe,  and  Pulaski  resolved  to  fight  the  battles  of  freedom 
on  a  distant  shore.  The  Court  of  Versailles  secretly  encouraged  his 
intention ;  and  Franklin  gave  him  letters  of  introduction  to  Congress. 
In  the  summer  of  1777  he  arrived  at  Philadelphia,  and  immediately 
joined  the  army  as  a  volunteer.  Hitherto  there  had  been  no  cavalry 
force  of  consequence  belonging  to  the  Americans.  There  were  four 
regiments  of  dragoons,  it  is  true  ;  but  they  never  acted  together,  and, 
on  Pulaski's  arrival,  the  cavalry  was  under  no  higher  officer  than  a 
Colonel.  Washington  had  long  felt  the  want  of  a  competent  force 
of  this  description,  properly  commanded ;  and  now  he  hastened  to 
solicit  for  Pulaski  the  post  of  General  of  the  Cavalry,  and  the  rank  of 
Brigadier.  Before  a  decision  was  made,  the  battle  of  Brandywine 
occurred.  Pulaski  was  a  volunteer,  and  remained  inactive  until  the 
close  of  the  action ;  but  then,  finding  the  enemy  about  to  cut  off  the 
baggage,  he  asked  the  loan  of  Washington's  body-guard,  and  with 
these  thirty  horsemen,  and  a  few  scattered  dragoons  he  picked  up, 
charged  the  British  several  times  in  so  brilliant  a  manner  as  to  drive 


COUNT    PULASKI.  4Q.5 

them  back  and  secure  the  retreat.  Four  days  afterwards  he  received 
the  command  of  the  cavalry,  with  the  rank  of  a  Brigadier. 

Pulaski  held  this  post  for  only  five  months,  at  the  end  of  which 
period  he  resigned.  The  command  had  not  answered  his  expecta- 
tions. He  was  one  of  those  fiery  spirits  who  must  be  constantly  in 
action.  To  carry  out  his  daring  plans,  he  required  a  force  always 
ready  and  at  his  service.  But  the  nature  of  the  American  warfare 
required  that  the  cavalry  should  be  separated  into  small  parties,  and 
at  the  disposal  of  the  different  divisions  of  the  army.  Pulaski  saw 
that  he  would  never  be  able,  while  at  the  head  of  such  a  force,  to 
fulfil  the  expectations  formed  of  him.  Accordingly  he  solicited  per- 
mission to  raise  an  independent  corps,  which  was  to  consist  of 
cavalry  armed  with  lances  and  of  foot  equipped  as  light  infantry. 
The  renown  of  his  name  soon  drew  recruits  to  his  standard.  In  a 
few  months  he  had  enlisted  three  hundred  and  thirty,  which  was 
sixty  more  than  at  first  proposed.  The  corps  was  called  Pulaski 's 
Legion,  and  was  of  vast  service  in  the  subsequent  campaigns.  It 
was  the  model  on  which  Lee's  and  Armand's  legions  were  after- 
wards formed.  Its  gallantry  soon  passed  into  a  proverb.  Whenever 
the  towering  hussar  cap  of  Pulaski  was  seen  in  a  fight,  men  knew 
that  deeds  of  heroic  valor  were  at  hand. 

His  career,  however,  was  soon  cut  short.  In  February,  1779,  he 
was  sent  to  the  south  with  his  legion.  He  was  approaching  Charles- 
ton when  he  heard  of  the  movement  of  Prevost  on  that  place.  Se- 
lecting his  ablest  men  and  horses,  he  pushed  forward  by  forced 
marches  and  entered  the  city  on  the  8th  of  May.  Three  days  after- 
wards the  enemy  appeared  before  the  town.  The  consternation  was 
universal.  But  Pulaski,  sallying  forth  at  the  head  of  his  legion  and 
a  few  mounted  volunteers,  made  a  dashing  assault  on  the  foe ;  and 
though  the  immediate  results  were  not  great,  the  boldness  and  spirit 
of  the  attack  restored  confidence  to  the  alarmed  citizens.  On  the 
retreat  of  Prevost,  a  few  days  after,  Pulaski  followed  him  up, 
harassing  his  army  at  every  assailable  point.  In  the  autumn,  d'Es- 
taing  appeared  on  the  coast,  and  the  memorable  siege  of  Savannah 
was  undertaken.  When  it  was  decided  to  attempt  carrying  the 
works  by  assault,  Pulaski  was  assigned  the  command  of  both  the 
French  and  American  cavalry.  The  disastrous  result  of  the  day  is 
well  known.  The  allies  were  repulsed  with  immense  slaughter. 
Pulaski  was  numbered  with  the  slain.  He  had  been  stationed  in  the 
rear  of  the  advanced  columns,  but  when  he  heard  of  the  havoc  made 
among  the  French  troops  in  crossing  the  swamp  that  lay  between 
them  and  the  works,  he  turned  to  his  companions,  and  shaking  his 


406 


THE  HEROES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 


sabre  over  his  head,  called  to  them  to  follow  :  then  giving  spurs  to 
his  horse,  he  rushed  forward,  though  almost  blinded  by  the  smoke, 
and  pressed  right  through  the  fire  of  the  hostile  batteries,  his  clear, 
ringing  voice  heard,  continually,  between  the  explosions  of  the  artil- 
lery. Suddenly  a  swivel-shot  struck  him  in  the  groin,  as  he  was 
swiftly  dashing  on.  He  reeled  back,  the  sabre  dropped  from  his 
hand,  and  he  fell  to  the  ground  mortally  wounded. 

He  lingered,  for  some  days,  after  the  repulse ;  and  at  last  died  on 
board  the  U.  S.  brig  Wasp,  as  she  was  leaving  the  mouth  of  the  Sa- 
vannah river.  His  body  was  committed  to  the  deep.  Congress,  on 
hearing  of  his  untimely  death,  voted  that  a  monument  should  be 
erected  to  his  memory.  The  resolution,  however,  has  never  been 
carried  into  effect;  but  a  beautiful  cenotaph  has  been  put  up  in  Sa- 
vannah by  private  subscription.  Pulaski  died  at  the  age  of  thirty- 
two.  There  is  a  melancholy  fitness  in  the  place  of  his  sepulture  : 
he  had  no  country,  and  he  has  no  grave  ! 


1PUJGLA2  KO 


EIPDSCDtfBIPAlL 


A  V  A   NJ  A    H 


ROBERT    KIRKWOOD 


OBERT  KIRKWOOD,  a  Captain  in  the  con- 
tinental  line,  was  born  in  Newcastle  eountv, 
Delaware,  in  the  year  1756.     He  fell  on  the 
bloody  field  of  Miami,  November  the   4th, 
1792,  being,  at  the  time  of  his  death,  the  oldest 
Captain  on  the  list.     His  career  is  an  example 
of  bravery  unrewarded,  arid  patriotism  conti- 
nuing unabated  notwithstanding  neglect.     He  entered  the  army  in 
1776,  as  a  Lieutenant  in  the  regiment  of  his  native  state,  and  conti- 
nued with  it  to  the  close  of  the  contest,  when  he  came  out  its  senior 
officer.     Yet,  as  the  regiment  had  been  reduced  to  a  Captain's  com- 
mand by  the  casualties  of  the  service,  he  had  risen  to  no  higher  rank 
than  a  Captain,  the  regulations  prohibiting  his  promotion  under  such 
circumstances.     It  must  ever  be  a  subject  of  regret  that  Kirkwood 
was  not  raised  to  a  loftier  position.     Both  personally,  and  in  con- 
sideration of  the  services  of  his  regiment,  one  of  the  most  gallant  in 
the  army,  he  deserved  a  Colonel's,  if  not  a  Brigadier's  commission. 
This  self-sacrificing  soldier  risked  his  life  for  his  country  oftener, 
perhaps,  than  any  other  officer  in  the  army.     The  battle  in  which 
he  fell  was  the  thirty -third  he  had  fought.     He  was  present  at  Long 
Island,  Trenton  and  Princeton  as  a  Lieutenant.     Being  promoted  to 
a  captaincy  in  1777,  he  fought  in  that  rank,  with  his  brave  Dela- 
warians,  at  Brandy  wine,  Gerrnantown  and  Monmouth.     In  1780  he 
accompanied  Gates  to  South  Carolina.     At  the  battle  of  Camden, 
the  little  band  of  Kirkwood,  in  conjunction  with  the  Maryland  line, 
desperately   maintained  the   sinking   fortunes   of   the   day   under 
DeKalb,  and  by  their  veteran  courage,  still  struggling  after  all 
others  had  fled,  covered  themselves  with  immortal  glory.     One  fact 
will  forcibly  present  the  heroic  valor  of  Kirkwood's  troops,  and  the 
awful  carnage  of  the  battle.     Of  eight  companies  of  the  Delaware 

407 


408  THE  HEROES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 

regiment  that  went  into  battle,  but  two  came  out,  the  remainder 
being  either  killed  or  made  prisoners.  In  this  conflict  Colonel 
Vaughan  and  Major  Patton,  Kirkwood's  superior  officers,  were  made 
captive,  and  continued  so  until  the  close  of  the  war,  a  circumstance 
which  also  would  have  prevented  his  promotion,  even  if  it  had  not 
been  forbidden  by  the  regulation  we  have  named. 

After  the  fatal  day  of  Camden,  the  two  Delaware  companies  were 
attached  as  light  infantry  to  Lee's  legion.  In  this  capacity  they 
rendered  invaluable  service.  With  Kirkwood  at  their  head,  they 
formed  part  of  the  gallant  rear-guard  which  protected  the  army  of 
Greene  during  his  retreat  to  the  Dan.  At  Guilford  Court  House,  at 
Hobkirk's  Hill,  and  at  Eutaw  Springs,  they  fought  valiantly,  mind- 
ful of  their  past  glories  and  eager  for  new  laurels;  until  at  last,  dis- 
ciplined by  so  many  conflicts,  no  sooner  did  these  scarred  and  im- 
passable veterans  appear  on  any  part  of  the  field  than  confidence 
immediately  filled  every  heart.  But  it  was  at  the  Cowpens  that 
the  coolness  of  their  leader,  and  their  own  more  than  Roman  firm- 
ness shone  forth  conspicuously.  When  Colonel  Howard  was  ordered 
to  charge,  at  the  crisis  of  that  battle,  Kirkwood  was  at  the  head  of 
the  first  platoon  of  that  officer's  corps ;  and  promptly  springing  for- 
ward ten  paces  in  advance,  he  charged  with  his  espontoon,  calling, 
in  a  confident  voice,  for  the  men  to  "come  on!"  The  example 
stimulated  the  whole  regiment.  The  long  line  of  bayonets  was 
levelled  on  the  instant,  and  the  soldiers  dashed  forward  to  that 
memorable  charge. 

On  the  conclusion  of  the  war,  Kirkwood,  through  the  influence  of 
Washington,  was  made  a  Major  by  brevet.  He  now  devoted  him- 
self to  agricultural  pursuits.  But  when  the  incursions  of  the  Indians 
rendered  it  necessary  to  send  an  army  to  chastise  them,  Kirkwood 
again  took  the  field,  the  oldest  captain  of  the  oldest  regiment  in  the.  Uni- 
ted States.  In  the  battle  of  Miami,  at  which  St.  Clair  was  routed,  Kirk- 
wood, though  he  had  been  ill  for  several  days,  fought  with  the  most 
desperate  courage,  cheering  his  own  men  on,  and  inspiring  others  also 
by  his  daring  example.  At  last  he  was  shot  through  the  abdomen  and 
fell.  When  the  retreat  was  ordered  he  crawled  to  a  tree,  and  in  this 
situation  a  companion  found  him,  and  proposed  to  carry  him  off. 
"  No,"  said  the  hero,  "  I  am  dying :  save  yourself,  if  you  can ;  and 
leave  me  to  my  fate.  But,  as  the  last  act  of  friendship  you  can  con- 
fer on  me,  blow  my  brains  out.  I  see  the  Indians  coming,  and  God 
knows  how  they  will  treat  me."  His  friend  was  affected  to  tears.  He 
shook  the  dying  soldier  by  the  hand,  and  left  him  to  his  fate.  Kirk- 
wood was  never  heard  of  more  ! 


BARON    DE    KALB. 


ARON  DE  KALB,  a  Major-Gene- 
O^ral  in  the  continental  army,  was  born 
in  Germany,  though  at  what  place 
is  not  known,  about  the  year  1720. 
He  served  with  distinction  in  the 
war  of  1755,  being  attached  to  the 
imperial  army,  at  the  time  it  was 
in  alliance  with  that  of  France. 
Towards  the  close  of  that  contest 
he  visited  America  as  an  agent  of 
the  Court  of  Versailles,  and  was 
so  struck  with  the  loyalty  of  the 
inhabitants,  that  he  was  accustom- 
ed, during  the  Revolution,  to  say, 
that  nothing  but  a  series  of  the 
most  absurd  blunders  on  the  part  of  the  British  Government,  could 
52  KK  409 


410  THE  HEROES  OP  THE  BEVOLUTION. 

have  alienated  such  devoted   adherents.     He  rose  in  the  French 
service  to  the  rank  of  Brigadier. 

De  Kalb,  like  Steuben  and  Pulaski,  came  to  the  United  States  at 
the  instigation  of  the  French  Government;  and  it  is  even  believed 
that  he  acted  as  a  secret  agent  for  the  Court  of  Versailles.  Such  a 
confidential  messenger  it  was  of  extreme  importance  for  France  to 
have  here,  in  consequence  of  the  conflicting  accounts  received  at 
Paris  of  the  strength,  disposition  and  zeal  of  the  colonists.  The 
Baron  was  a  keen  observer  of  character ;  possessed  of  an  accurate 
judgment;  with  great  knowledge  of  men  arid  things;  simple  in  his 
manners,  affable,  winning  and  amiable.  On  his  arrival  in  America 
he  was  appointed  a  Major-General  in  the  army,  and  speedily  won 
all  hearts  by  his  frankness  and  condescension.  His  experience  was 
of  great  service  to  the  cause. 

The  Baron  served  nearly  three  years  in  the  armies  of  the  United 
States,  having  arrived  in  this  country  with  La  Fayette  in  1777.  In 
his  mode  of  life  he  was  exceedingly  abstemious,  maintaining  the 
same  temperate  diet,  to  which  he  had  been  accustomed  in  his  youth 
and  poverty.  He  lived  chiefly  on  beef-soup  and  bread;  and  drank 
nothing  but  water.  His  habits  were  industrious.  He  was  accus- 
tomed, in  summer,  to  rise  with  the  dawn;  and  in  winter,  before  day. 
He  spent  much  of  his  time  in  writing,  employing  hieroglyphics  and 
large  folio  books.  This  favored  the  idea  to  which  we  have  alluded, 
and  which  was  generally  circulated  through  the  army,  that  he  was 
an  agent  of  the  Court  of  France.  He  betrayed  unceasing  jealousy 
lest  his  journals  should  be  perused;  and  seemed  to  be  very  anxious 
respecting  the  safety  of  his  baggage,  which  could  only  have  been 
valuable  on  account  of  these  manuscripts.  What  became  of  his 
papers  was  never  known.  If  they  were  such  as  has  been  presumed, 
they,  perhaps,  passed  into  the  hands  of  the  French  Ambassador. 

On  the  disastrous  field  of  Camden,  he  commanded  the  regulars, 
and  made  the  most  desperate  exertions  to  change  the  fortunes  of  the 
day.  For  three-quarters  of  an  hour,  at  the  head  of  these  brave 
troops,  he  stemmed  the  tide  of  victory.  He  charged  the  enemy 
incessantly  with  the  bayonet,  and  once  took  several  prisoners.  But 
even  heroic  courage  was  in  vain.  The  struggle  grew,  every 
moment,  more  hopeless  for  De  Kalb.  The  militia  having  fled  in 
all  directions,  Cornwallis  concentrated  all  his  forces  for  a  decisive 
attack  on  the  continentals,  and  the  cavalry  coming  up  at  the  same 
time,  penetrated  through  and  through  the  opposing  ranks,  sabring 
them  without  mercy.  De  Kalb,  fighting  on  foot  in  this  last  despe- 
rate moment,  fell  under  eleven  wounds.  At  his  fall,  the  fog  still 


BARON    DE    KALB.  411 

concealed  the  flight  of  Gates;  and  it  was  some  time  before  the  dying 
hero  could  be  made  to  believe  the  Americans  were  defeated. 

His  loss  immediately  broke  the  courage  of  the  troops.  The  flight 
now  became  general.  A  third  of  the  brave  regulars,  however,  were 
left  on  the  ground,  and,  in  their  midst,  lay  the  gallant  old  man  who 
had  rallied  them  to  that  terrible  strife.  Exhausted  and  bleeding,  his 
uniform  soiled  by  the  struggle,  he  was  undistinguishable  from  the 
common  mass;  and  as  the  enemy  came  rushing  on,  a  dozen  bayonets 
were  presented  at  his  bosom.  At  this  instant  his  Aid-de-camp,  Du 
Buyssen,  with  a  disregard  of  his  own  peril  that  should  render  his 
memory  immortal,  threw  himself  above  the  body  and  extending  his 
arms,  cried,  "  Save  the  Baron  De  Kalb — save  the  Baron  De  Kalb." 
The  petition  was  not  in  vain.  In  the  confusion  of  the  moment  a 
few  additional  wounds  were  received  by  the  fallen  General,  but  a 
British  officer  interposing,  he  was  preserved  from  further  danger 
and  borne  from  the  fatal  field.  Du  Buyssen  himself  was  wounded 
in  several  places,  in  consequence  of  this  generous  effort  to  defend 
his  friend :  but,  instead  of  regretting  this,  he  pointed  to  his  wounds 
with  pride,  declaring  he  wished  they  had  been  greater,  if  that  would 
have  availed. 

De  Kalb  lived  several  days  after  the  battle.  He  was  treated  with 
every  attention  by  the  enemy,  but  no  skill  could  save  his  life,  and 
when  he  found  his  end  approaching,  he  prepared  to  die  like  a  soldier 
and  a  hero.  His  last  moments  were  devoted  to  the  gallant  conti- 
nentals of  his  division,  the  troops  of  the  Maryland  and  Delaware 
line,  who  had  stood  by  him  on  the  field  of  Camden  and  performed 
such  prodigies  of  valor.  He  dictated  a  letter  to  General  Smallwood, 
who  succeeded  to  the  command  of  this  division,  expressing  his 
sincere  affection  for  the  officers  and  men,  dilating,  at  the  same 
time,  on  the  glow  of  admiration  their  late  conduct  had  awakened  in 
his  bosom,  and  repeating  the  encomiums  which  it  had  extorted  from 
the  enemy.  Then,  finding  the  dimness  of  death  stealing  over  his 
vision,  he  stretched  out  his  hand  to  the  faithful  Du  Buyssen,  and 
said,  "  Tell  my  brave  fellows  I  died  thinking  of  them — tell  them 
they  behaved  like  veterans."  After  this,  he  closed  his  eyes,  and 
sank  placidly  into  the  arms  of  death. 

De  Kalb  was  a  friend  to  America,  not  from  mercenary  motives, 
but  from  a  sense  of  the  justice  of  her  cause.  When  the  British 
officer  who  had  captured  him,  condoled  with  him  on  his  approach- 
ing dissolution,  the  Baron  replied :  "  I  thank  you  for  your  generous 
sympathy,  but  I  die  the  death  I  always  prayed  for ;  the  death  .of  a 
soldier  fighting  for  the  rights  of  man." 


412 


THE  HEROES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 


Years  after  his  death,  Washington,  standing  by  his  grave,  said: 
"  So,  there  lies  the  brave  De  Kalb  :  the  generous  stranger  who  came 
from  a  distant  land  to  fight  our  battles,  and  to  water  with  his  blood 
the  tree  of  liberty.  Would  to  God  he  had  lived  to  share  its  fruits!" 

Congress  resolved  to  erect  a  monument  to  his  remains  with  a 
suitable  inscription,  and  the  city  of  Annapolis,  in  Maryland,  was 
chosen  for  the  place  of  its  erection. 


BATTLE   Of   CAMDK.V 


<*' 


YOBKTOWX   BATTLE-GROUND. 


MARQUIS   DE  LA  FAYETTE 


ILBERT  MOTTIER, 
Marquis  de  La  Fay- 
,  ette,  a  Major-General 
in  the  American  army, 
is  celebrated  for  leaving 
a  luxurious  home,  the 
splendors  of  rank,  and 
a  beloved  wife,  to  fight 
the  battles  of  a  strange 
people,  struggling,  in  a 
distant  continent,  for 
freedom.  This  gene- 
rous act  will  render  his 
name  immortal.  He 

was  born  of  an  ancient 

family  in  France,  in  the  province  of  Auvergne,  on  the  6th  of  Sep- 
tember, 1757.     Possessed  of  an  immense  estate,  and  surrounded  by 
all  the  temptations  of  a  profligate  court,  it  is  a  wonder  thaUie  was 
KK* 


413 


414  THE  HEROES  OP  THE  REVOLUTION. 

able  to  preserve  his  heart  so  comparatively  pure  and  fresh.  At 
sixteen  he  was  united  in  marriage  to  a  daughter  of  the  Noailles 
family,  a  union  which,  unlike  most  of  those  of  the  nobility,  was 
attended  by  felicity.  Adopting  the  profession  of  a  soldier,  La  Fay- 
ette,  at  nineteen,  was  stationed,  as  Captain  of  Dragoons,  at  Metz, 
one  of  the  garrisoned  towns  of  France.  It  was  while  here,  in  the 
summer  of  1776,  that  he  met  the  Duke  of  Gloucester,  brother  to  the 
King  of  England,  at  a  grand  entertainment  given  by  the  commandant 
to  this  distinguished  visitor,  and  listened  while  the  prince  narrated 
the  revolt  of  the  American  colonies  and  their  subsequent  Declaration 
of  Independence.  La  Fayette  was  fascinated  by  what  he  heard. 
Naturally  of  a  warm  and  somewhat  imaginative  spirit,  he  conceived 
the  idea  of  offering  his  sword  to  the  Americans.  He  consulted  several 
of  his  friends,  but  received  little  encouragement.  He  did  not,  how- 
ever, abandon  his  project.  At  last  he  met  the  Baron  de  Kalb,  who 
was  himself  about  to  join  the  colonists,  and  through  his  influence 
was  introduced  to  Silas  Deane,  the  American  Commissioner  in  Paris. 
Mr.  Deane,  by  his  vivid  pictures  of  the  struggle,  enlisted  more 
warmly  than  ever  the  sympathies  of  his  young  visitor,  and  finally 
La  Fayette  declared  his  fixed  determination  to  offer  his  services  to 
Congress.  The  rank  of  Major-General,  in  consequence,  was  pro- 
mised him  by  the  Commissioner. 

*  La  Fayette  was  still  in  Paris,  however,  when  the  news  was 
received  of  the  disastrous  campaign  of  1776.  At  the  same  time 
arrived  Dr.  Franklin  arid  Arthur  Lee,  who  had  been  sent  to  France 
to  join  Silas  Deane.  Both  these  gentlemen,  under  the  altered  cir- 
cumstances of  the  case,  endeavored  to  persuade  La  Fayette  against 
prosecuting  his  original  intention.  But  the  young  hero  was  not  to 
be  deterred.  His  wife  secretly  exhorted  him  to  persevere,  fired  by 
an  enthusiasm  as  holy  as  his  own.  He  resolved  accordingly  to 
purchase  a  vessel,  to  freight  it  with  supplies,  and  to  set  sail  without 
delay  for  the  shores  of  America.  His  intention  having  been  dis- 
covered, a  royal  order  was  issued  to  detain  his  person ;  but  making 
his  escape  to  Spain,  in  company  with  De  Kalb  and  ten  other  officers, 
he  succeeded  in  embarking  from  that  kingdom.  His  passage  was 
protracted,  stormy  and  perilous.  He  landed  near  Georgetown, 
South  Carolina,  and  spent  his  first  night  at  the  house  of  Major 
Huger.  Losing  no  time  in  unnecessary  delay,  he  hastened  to 
Charleston,  and  thence  to  Philadelphia,  where  he  immediately  sent 
his  recommendations  to  the  Committee  on  Foreign  Relations.  The 
answer  was  promptly  returned  that,  in  consequence  of  the  number 
of  such  applications,  it  was  doubted  whether  he  could  obtain  a 


MARQUIS    DE    LA    FAYETTE.  415 

commission.  The  truth  is  that  Congress  had  already  found  itself 
embarrassed  by  the  unreasonable  promises  made,  on  its  behalf,  by 
Silas  Deane  to  numerous  foreign  adventurers.  Without  waiting, 
therefore,  to  scrutinize  the  claims  of  La  Fayette,  the  Committee, 
fancying  his  case  was  similar  to  the  others,  returned  this  discou- 
raging answer.  But  La  Fayette  was  not  to  be  repulsed.  He  had 
come  to  America  from  a  sincere  desire  to  aid  the  struggling  colonists, 
not  from  mere  love  of  rank  or  desire  for  emoluments.  Accordingly 
he  sent  a  note  to  the  President,  offering  his  services  as  a  volunteer, 
and  refusing  to  accept  pay.  This  language,  so  different  from  that 
usually  employed,  induced  an  examination  of  his  letters.  The 
obstacles  which  he  had  overcome  in  reaching  our  shores  soon  began 
to  be  whispered  about,  moreover;  and  the  result  of  all  was  an 
instant  acceptance  of  his  offers,  and  the  tender  of  a  commission  as 
Major-General. 

It  was  at  a  dinner  party  that  La  Fayette  was  first  introduced  to 
Washington.  The  Commander-in-chief  took  him  apart  and  con- 
versed with  him  in  the  most  flattering  manner,  and  this  little 
attention  so  fixed  the  gratitude  of  the  young  noble,  that  from  that 
hour,  he  was  entirely  devoted  to  the  hero.  With  that  insight  into 
character  which  was  one  of  the  prominent  traits  of  Washington,  he 
saw,  at  once,  the  excellent  heart,  the  modesty,  and  the  abilities  of 
the  Marquis ;  and  when  he  recalled  to  mind  the  dangers  La  Fayette 
had  braved,  as  well  as  the  risk  he  had  run,  the  Commander-in-chief 
could  not  withhold  his  affection.  He  invited  La  Fayette  accordingly 
to  make  head-quarters  his  home.  \  The  love  that  grew  up  between 
the  young  noble  and  the  august  hero  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful 
incidents  in  our  Revolutionary  history.  It  was  on  the  one  part 
something  of  the  affection  of  a  parent,  tempered  with  that  of  a 
brother ;  on  the  other,  not  unlike  that  of  a  son,  sweetened  by  a  more 
equal  relationship.  On  one  side  the  consciousness  of  superior  wis- 
dom and  talent  only  increased  the  love  of  the  elder ;  on  the  other 
the  reverential  respect  of  the  younger  hallowed,  while  it  exalted  his 
devotion.  No  subsequent  events  ever  disturbed  the  harmony  of  that 
mutual  regard.  When  Lee,  at  the  battle  of  Monmouth,  after  first 
refusing,  insisted  on  receiving  the  command  of  the  attacking  party, 
it  became  necessary  to  displace  La  Fayette,  yet  the  latter  submitted 
without  a  complaint,  satisfied  with  the  explanations  of  Washington. 
When  the  Conway  cabal,  at  the  head  of  the  Board  of  War,  planned 
the  expedition  against  Canada,  it  appointed  La  Fayette  to  the  chief 
command  in  order  to  detach  him  from  the  interests  of  the  Com- 
mander-in-chief; but  the  Marquis  no  sooner  penetrated  the  designs 


416  THE  HEROES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 

of  the  conspirators,  than  he  took  occasion  to  express,  in  plain  terms, 
his  dissent  from  them,  and  in  consequence  the  enterprise  was  suf- 
fered to  drop.  At  the  close  of  the  war,  before  sailing  for  his  native 
country,  La  Fayette  visited  Mount  Vernon,  and  on  his  departure, 
Washington  rode  several  miles  with  him.  They  never  met  again  ! 
— The  services  of  La  Fayette,  during  the  war,  were  many  and 
important.  He  first  fought  at  the  battle  of  Brandywine,  where  he 
served  as  a  volunteer,  and  where,  exposing  himself  with  the  greatest 
intrepidity,  he  was  severely  wounded  in  the  leg.  For  two  months, 
in  consequence  of  this  injury,  he  was  debarred  from  active  service. 
In  the  succeeding  winter,  the  expedition  to  Canada  was  projected. 
In  May  he  distinguished  himself  by  his  retreat  from  Barren  Hill,  in 
the  face  of  a  much  superior  force  of  the  enemy.  At  the  battle  of 
Monmouth,  in  June,  1778,  he  acted  with  the  highest  spirit.  During 
the  siege  of  Newport,  after  d'Estaing  had  signified  his  intention  to 
visit  Boston  to  re-fit,  La  Fayette  rendered  the  most  important  services 
to  America,  by  healing  the  breach  which  the  obstinacy  of  the  French 
Admiral  and  the  heat  of  Sullivan's  temper  had  caused.  The  war 
which  broke  out  between  England  and  France  at  this  period,  the 
result  of  the  treaty  between  the  latter  power  and  America,  altered 
La  Fayette's  relations,  in  his  opinion,  towards  his  native  country, 
and  he  considered  it  his  duty  accordingly  to  return  to  Paris,  and 
offer  his  aid  to  his  King,  in  whose  service  he  still  continued.  Con- 
gress granted  him  an  unlimited  leave  of  absence,  and  caused  a 
sword  to  be  presented  to  him,  with  suitable  devices.  He  reached 
the  shores  of  France,  on  the  12th  of  February,  1779,  after  an  absence 
of  about  two  years,  and  was  immediately  hailed  with  enthusiasm, 
especially  by  the  people;  and  though  for  awhile  the  Court  behaved 
coldly  towards  him,  he  was  finally  received  into  favor,  and  a  com- 
mand in  the  King's  own  regiment  of  dragoons  bestowed  on  him. 

In  March,  1780,  after  a  sojourn  of  a  year  in  his  native  land,  La 
Fayette  returned  to  the  United  States.  He  came,  bringing  intelli- 
gence of  the  resolution  of  France  to  sustain  the  colonies  with  a 
large  army,  and  in  consequence  was  welcomed  with  the  most  rap- 
turous enthusiasm,  and  hailed,  after  Washington,  as  the  saviour 
of  the  country  !  Congress  noticed  his  return  with  complimentary 
resolutions.  One  of  the  first  acts  he  was  called  on  to  perform,  was  to 
sit  as  a  member  of  the  Board  that  tried  Andre.  In  the  spring  of  1 781 
he  was  sent  into  Virginia,  where  his  manoeuvres  against  Cornwallis 
gained  him  the  highest  credit.  He  acted,  in  this  campaign,  with 
such  consummate  judgment,  that  though  the  English  General  often 
exclaimed  "that  boy  cannot  escape  me,"  every  plan  for  his  capture 


MARQUIS    DE    LA    FAYETTE.  417 

was  frustrated,  and  he  finally  enjoyed  the  pleasure  of  seeing  his 
boastful  antagonist  reduced  to  the  mortification  of  a  surrender.  Nor 
was  the  devotion  of  La  Fayette  to  his  adopted  country  less  con- 
spicuous than  his  military  ability.  On  one  occasion,  his  men  being 
in  want  of  necessaries,  and  the  treasury  empty,  he  raised  the  sum 
required,  in  Baltimore,  on  his  personal  responsibility.  He  was  present 
at  the  siege  of  Yorktown,  where  he  commanded  the  detachment  of 
American  troops  that  stormed  one  of  the  two  redoubts  of  the  enemy. 
There  had  been  some  playful  remarks  among  the  allies,  as  to  whether 
the  French  or  Americans  would  carry  their  respective  redoubts  first. 
La  Fayette  stormed  his  with  such  impetuosity  that  the  men  rushed 
in  without  waiting  for  the  abatis  to  be  removed.  He  sent  word  of 
this  success  to  the  Baron  de  Viomenel,  who  commanded  the  French 
detachment.  "  Tell  the  Marquis  we  are  not  yet  in,  but  shall  be,  in 
five  minutes,"  was  the  reply,  and  the  Baron  was  as  good  as  his 
word. 


MOORE'S   HOCSE — YOKKIOW.N — WHKKE  THE  CAPITULATION  WAS  SIG.VKD. 

After  the  fall  of  Cornwallis,  La  Fayette  sailed  for  France,  bui 
re-visited  America  in  1784.  He  was  received  with  enthusiasm 
wherever  he  came.  Cities  and  states,  Legislatures  and  Congress 
vied  with  each  other  in  demonstrations  of  respect  towards  him  ;  and 
when  he  departed  for  his  native  shores,  the  world  witnessed  the 
spectacle  of  a  young  man,  scarcely  twenty-five,  carrying  with  him 
the  regrets  of  a  whole  nation.  In  France  almost  equal  honors 
53 


V 


418  THE    HEROES    OF    THE    REVOLUTION. 

awaited  him.  He  had  been  appointed  a  Major-General  in  the 
French  army,  his  commission  to  date  from  the  surrender  of  Corn- 
wallis;  and  the  Revolution,  which  soon  after  succeeded,  elevated 
him  to  new  honors,  and  a  power  superior  to  that  even  of  royalty. 
His  career,  during  the  troubled  times  that  succeeded,  it  does  not 
become  us  to  paint.  He  has  been  charged  with  imbecility,  but 
without  justice,  for  his  conduct  throughout  was  temperate  and  patri- 
otic, if  not  always  sagacious  and  wise.  There  were  two  things  in 
the  character  of  La  Fayette  which  prevented  his  permanent  ascend- 
ancy in  the  French  Revolution.  He  was  too  honest  himself  for  the 
men  who  labored  with  him,  and  he  mistook  the  condition  and  wants 
of  the  people.  He  fancied  a  republic,  like  that  of  the  United  States, 
could  be  established  on  the  ruins  of  the  diseased  monarchy  of  France, 
and  that  those  who  had  been  ignorant  subjects  could,  by  mere  voli- 
tion, become  competent  rulers.  Never  was  there  a  greater  mistake. 
America,  in  shaking  off  her  allegiance  and  establishing  a  republic, 
in  reality  altered  her  form  of  government  but  little,  and  the  difference 
between  the  old  state  of  things  and  new  consisted  more  in  names 
than  in  things ;  but  in  France  the  change  was  radical,  and  affected 
the  social  as  well  as  the  political  frame  of  society.  The  intellect  of 
La  Fayette  was  more  imitative  than  original.  He  had  learned  to 
reverence  the  counsels  of  Washington,  and  consider  the  government  of 
the  United  States  the  most  perfect  in  the  world ;  and  hence  con- 
cluded that  nothing  could  be  better  adapted  to  France.  But  he 
totally  forgot  the  vast  difference  between  the  people  of  the  two  coun- 
tries, and  other  circumstances,  of  which  a  more  profound  statesman 
would  not  have  lost  sight. 

On  the  12th  of  July,  1789,  the  bastile  was  destroyed,  and,  from 
that  hour,  the  violence  of  the  Revolution  increased  every  hour.  The 
old  spirit  of  brutality  and  massacre,  the  elements  of  which  the  pro- 
phetic eye  of  Burke  had  seen  existing  as  far  back  as  1 774,  now 
broke  forth  with  insatiate  fury,  and,  for  four  years,  Paris  was  deli- 
vered over  to  all  the  terrors  of  anarchy.  The  Tuilleries  were 
stormed  on  the  10th  of  August,  1791,  and  the  constitutional  mon- 
archy overthrown.  In  the  succeeding  month  the  massacres  in  the 
prisons  occurred.  In  July,  1792,  the  King  was  beheaded.  In  the 
Spring  the  Girondists  were  overthrown,  and  after  them  Dan  ton ;  and 
then,  for  one  long  year  of  horror,  Robespierre  raged,  like  a  wild 
beast  athirst  for  blood.  The  reign  of  terror  froze  every  heart  with 
fear.  But  La  Fayette  did  not  remain  to  witness  this  sanguinary 
drama.  Finding  himself,  after  the  execution  of  the  King,  beset  by 
suspicion,  and  satisfied  that  purity  of  motive  would  be  no  defence 


MARQUIS    DE    LA  FAYETTE.  419 

*       * 

against  the  men  who  then  ruled  at  Paris,  he  determined  to  fly ;  and 
accordingly,  on  receiving  secret  intelligence  that  he  had  been  de- 
nounced as  a  traitor  in  the  National  Assembly,  he  abandoned  the  com- 
mand of  the  army,  and  rode  hastily  toward  the  enemy's  posts.  At 
Liege  he  was  seized  by  the  Austrians,  who,  in  defiance  of  his  coming 
as  a  fugitive,  and  not  as  an  enemy,  delivered  him  to  the  Prussians, 
who  were  then  at  war  with  France.  By  these  he  was  confined  in 
the  fortress  of  Magdeburg,  in  a  damp,  gloomy  and  subterraneous 
vault.  On  an  exchange  of  prisoners  taking  place  between  France 
and  Prussia,  La  Fayette  was  transferred  to  the  charge  of  Austria, 
in  order  to  avoid  including  him  in  the  cartel.  He  was  now  thrown 
into  a  dungeon,  in  the  fortress  of  Olmutz,  in  Moravia. 

Here,  excluded  from  all  communication  with  the  outer  world,  and 
deprived  of  a  knife  and  fork,  lest  he  should  commit  suicide  in  his 
despair,  he  lingered  out  several  years.  During  his  imprisonment  an 
unsuccessful  attempt  at  his  liberation  was  made  on  the  part  of  a 
young  American  named  Huger,  and  a  German  named  Bollman, 
both  of  whom,  being  detected,  were  chained  by  the  neck  to  the 
floors  of  separate  cells,  for  a  space  of  six  months.  At  last,  towards 
the  close  of  1795,  the  rigor  of  La  Fayette's  confinement  was  miti- 
gated in  part,  and  his  wife  permitted  to  join  him,  though  only  on 
condition  that  she  should  never  again  return  to  freedom.  Finally, 
through  the  intercession  of  Washington,  and  what  was  even  more 
effective,  the  threats  of  Napoleon,  La  Fayette  was  set  at  liberty, 
though  with  shattered  health  and  broken  fortunes. 

On  the  fall  of  the  Directory,  which  soon  occurred,  La  Fayette 
returned  to  France  and  established  himself  at  Lagrange.  Napoleon 
was  now  First  Consul,  and,  with  that  sagacious  policy  which  always 
distinguished  him,  sought  to  make  La  Fayette  his  partizan.  But  the 
pupil  of  Washington  was  too  true  a  republican  to  be  thus  seduced. 
He  constantly  opposed  the  arbitrary  course  of  the  Emperor,  and 
assisted  to  produce  his  fall  in  1815. 

In  1824,  La  Fayette  visited  the  United  States  for  the  last  time. 
Forty  years  had  passed  since  he  had  departed  from  our  shores,  and 
in  that  time  one  generation  had  passed  away  and  another  filled  half 
its  allotted  period.  The  republic  which  he  had  left  in  its  infancy 
had  grown  into  a  mighty  nation.  Where  there  had  been  pathless 
forests  were  now  populated  towns.  In  all  the  chief  cities  he  was 
welcomed  with  processions,  with  civic  banquets,  with  the  unbought 
huzzas  of  thousands  of  spectators.  Occasionally,  in  the  crowds  that 
flocked  to  greet  him,  he  would  distinguish  some  grey-haired  veteran, 
the  companion  of  his  revolutionary  campaigns,  and  the  two  would 


420 


THE  HEROES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 


rush  together  with  tears  that  affected  all  who  beheld  the  scene. 
When  he  returned  to  France,  a  national  vessel  was  offered  to  carry 
him  home.  In  the  whole  range  of  history,  ancient  or  modern,  there 
is  no  instance  of  similar  honors  being  paid  to  any  hero,  by  the  free 
and  spontaneous  will  of  a  whole  people.  It  stands  alone  in  the 
world's  annals,  a  glorious  example  to  future  times! 

La  Fayette  took  an  active  part  in  the  Three  Days'  Revolution 
of  1830.  But  the  administration  of  Louis  Philippe  soon  disgusting 
him,  he  retired  again  to  private  life,  from  which  nothing  could  in- 
duce him  subsequently  to  emerge.  He  died  at  his  seat  at  Lagrange, 
in  1834.  With  characteristic  modesty  he  shunned,  even  in  death, 
the  pomp  of  this  world.  He  lies  buried  in  a  rural  cemetery  near 
Paris,  sleeping  between  his  heroic  wife  and  daughter ! 


GENERAL   GREENE'S  ENTRANCE   WTO   CHARLESTON. 


NATHANAEL     GREENE 


ATIIANAEL  GREENE,  a 

Major-General  in  the  Ameri- 
can army,  was,  after  Wash- 
ington, the  ablest  of  the  revo- 
lutionary leaders.  His  mind, 
indeed,  was  strikingly  similar 
to  that  of  the  Commander-in- 
chief.  He  possessed  the  same 
calm  judgment,  the  same  pa- 
tient investigation,  the  same 
energy,  perseverance  and  ca- 
pacity of  adapting  himself  to 
circumstances.  He  differed 
from  Washington,  however, 
in  a  nature  less  disciplined  to 
annoyances.  He  had  the 
boldness  and  originality  of 
the  Commander-in-chief;  yet, 
like  him,  he  long  adhered  to 

a  cautious  policy.     The  same  considerations,  in  fact,  governed  both 

T,L  421 


422  THE  HEROES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 

'in  thus  surrendering  the  native  bent  of  their  genius.  They  saw  its 
necessity,  and  did  not  hesitate  in  abandoning  present  fame  for  future 
victory.  When  Washington,  year  after  year,  stood  on  the  defensive, 
and  when  Greene  made  his  memorable  retreat  through  North  Caro- 
lina, there  were  many,  even  among  the  wisest  and  purest  patriots, 
who  openly  charged  them  with  incapacity;  but  both  these  great 
Generals,  conscious  of  the  superior  comprehensiveness  of  their  views, 
persisted  in  the  course  they  had  laid  down  for  themselves,  and 
finally  triumphed.  It  is  now  clear  that  any  other  system  would 
have  failed.  But  Greene,  though  equal  to  Washington  in  many 
respects,  was  still  his  inferior.  He  was  at  times  rash,  especially  in 
his  earlier  career.  The  loss  of  Fort  Washington  is  to  be  attributed 
to  his  too  sanguine  assurances.  But  as  the  war  progressed,  experi- 
ence went  far  toward  correcting  this  error,  for,  in  his  southern  cam- 
paigns, he  rarely,  or  never  ventured  too  much.  His  boldness  was 
then  tempered  with  prudence,  and  had  become  filed  down  until  it 
formed  his  best  quality.  Nothing  can  exceed  in  daring,  the  resolu- 
tion he  took  to  abandon  Virginia  to  Cornwallis,  yet  it  was  based  on 
the  soundest  rules,  and  eventually  led  both  to  the  ruin  of  that  Gene- 
ral, and  the  emancipation  of  the  Carolinas. 

Greene  had  great  self-confidence.  He  rarely  called  a  council  of 
officers,  but  revolved  and  decided  his  measures  in  the  silent  depths 
of  his  own  mind.  He  governed  his  movements  very  much  accord- 
ing to  his  estimate  of  his  opponent's  character.  In  his  campaign 
against  Cornwallis  he  evinced  a  profound  insight  into  the  foibles  of 
that  Commander,  and  availed  himself  of  this  knowledge  with  consum- 
mate skill  and  effect.  He  omitted  nothing  which  could  assist  to  win 
success.  Hence  he  was  indefatigable  in  his  labors,  as  well  of  body 
as  of  mind.  In  examining  whatever  subject  came  under  his  notice, 
he  first  thoroughly  mastered  the  details,  and  then  formed  his  opinion. 
When  he  assumed  command  of  the  southern  army,  he  perused  the 
whole  correspondence  of  his  predecessors,  and,  in  every  other  way, 
strove  to  become  acquainted  with  the  condition,  resources  and  char- 
acter of  the  south.  In  consequence,  the  instant  he  was  installed,  his 
plans  for  the  campaign  were  already  formed.  He  was  unfortunate 
in  never  gaining  a  decided  victory,  yet  his  defeats  he  so  managed 
as  to  be  more  permanently  injurious  to  his  antagonist  than  to  him- 
self. He  soon  inspired  the  enemy  with  the  same  dread  of  him 
which  they  entertained  of  Washington.  Like  that  great  comrnandei 
he  never  could  be  brought  to  battle  until  he  was  ready  for  it.  Now 
retreating  and  now  advancing ;  by  times  prudent  and  bold ;  fer- 
tile in  expedients ;  profound  in  combinations — the  triumph  which 


NATHANAEL    GREENE.  423 

eventually  crowned  his  arms  is  to  be  attributed,  as  in  the  case  of  the 
General-in-chief,  rather  to  his  successful  strategy  than  to  any  deci- 
sive victories  he  gained.  He  was  fond  of  the  excitement  of  battle. 
In  moments  of  emergency,  he  exposed  his  person  with  the  same 
recklessness  as  if  he  had  been  a  common  soldier :  thus,  at  Hobkirk's 
Hill,  he  thrice  led  up  the  Virginia  regiment  to  within  twenty  paces 
of  the  enemy.  He  shared  every  privation  with  his  troops,  besides 
enduring  an  amount  of  personal  labor  almost  incredible.  Frequently 
he  did  not  undress  for  weeks  except  to  change  his  linen.  From  the 
day  he  set  out  to  join  the  camp  of  Morgan,  at  the  beginning  of  the 
retreat  through  North  Carolina,  to  the  hour  when  he  saw  his  little 
army  landed  in  safety  on  the  northern  shore  of  the  Dan,  he  never 
took  off  his  clothes  to  sleep.  He  was  a  rigid  disciplinarian,  yet 
beloved  by  his  troops.  When  he  joined  the  southern  army  he  found 
the  different  corps,  with  but  few  exceptions,  in  a  lamentable  state  of 
disorganization.  He  had  to  hang  one  man  for  insubordination,  and, 
after  that,  all  went  well.  Wiihin  a  year,  at  the  battle  of  Eutaw,  his 
army  proved  itself,  in  discipline,  equal  to  the  best  English  veterans. 
He  waged  war  in  the  south  under  disadvantages  that  would  have 
crushed  any  other  man  but  Washington.  At  first  he  had  neither 
men,  arms  nor  money :  yet  he  managed  to  preserve  the  two  first, 
and  to  fight  without  the  last.  No  General  better  understood  the 
moral  effect  any  given  movement  would  have  on  his  own  forces  or 
those  of  his  enemy ;  and  many  of  his  actions  are  to  be  traced  rather 
to  the  desire  to  inspirit  the  patriots  than  to  produce  an  immediate 
effect  on  the  foe.  The  battle  of  Guilford  was  of  this  description. 
Its  result,  even  with  defeat,  was  to  dishearten  the  lories.  His 
movement  on  the  left  of  Cornwallis,  which  led  to  the  battle  of  the 
Cowpens,  and  which  has  been  condemned  by  so  many,  was  made 
with  this  design  ;  for,  if  he  had  not  thrown  Morgan  in  that  direction, 
even  at  the  risk  of  the  latter  being  cut  off,  he  could  neither  have 
victualled  his  troops,  nor  imparted  that  confidence  which  was  so 
necessary  to  obtain  recruits.  He  early  saw  the  value  of  cavalry  in 
a  southern  campaign.  Of  the  militia  he  had  no  very  high  opinion, 
nor  do  they  appear  generally  to  have  deserved  it.  The  brigade  of 
Marion  was  indeed  of  invaluable  benefit,  and  the  services  of  that 
General  deservedly  rank  second  only  to  those  of  Greene ;  but  the 
men  of  Marion  were  useful  merely  as  light  troops,  and  could  not  be 
depended  on  in  battle,  unless  under  the  eye  of  their  leader.  Greene 
was  rarely  disheartened.  After  a  repulse,  instead  of  wasting  time 
in  useless  regrets,  he  set  himself  at  work  to  repair  the  disaster.  A 
blow  might  stagger  him,  but  could  not  strike  him  to  the  earth,  for, 


424  THE  HEROES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 

rallying  immediately,  he  returned  to  the  strife,  and  wore  out  his 
antagonist  in  the  end  by  his  superior  powers  of  endurance.  In 
short,  he  was  the  Washington  of  the  south. 

Greene  was  born  at  Warwick,  Rhode  Island,  on  the  27th  of  May, 
1742.  His  family  were  Friends,  in  which  denomination  his  father 
was  a  preacher ;  and  Greene  himself  continued  a  member  of  that 
sect  until  he  was  disowned  in  consequence  of  assuming  arms.  He 
early  displayed  a  taste  for  study,  especially  for  the  mathematics ;  and 
the  seat  was  still  pointed  out,  a  few  years  since,  in  his  father's  forge, 
where  he  used  to  pore  over  Euclid  while  the  iron  was  heating.  He 
became  acquainted  with  Or  Stiles,  of  Newport,  and  subsequently 
with  Lindley  Murray  ;  and  the  study  of  Watts'  Logic  and  Locke  on 
the  Understanding  was  the  result  of  those  intimacies.  Gradually  he 
acquired  a  small  library.  Having  few  books  he  studied  these 
thoroughly ;  and  to  this,  perhaps,  is  to  be  attributed  the  force  and 
originality  of  his  subsequent  opinions.  He  enjoyed  high  animal 
spirits,  however,  and  was  more  fond  of  fun  and  frolic  than  comported 
with  the  decorum  of  a  Quaker.  This  exuberance  continued  with 
him  through  life,  except  in  the  gloomiest  periods  of  the  southern 
war ;  and  when  peace  was  declared,  at  the  age  of  forty,  he  used  to 
amuse  himself  at  Newport,  by  playing  with  his  wife  the  old  game 
of  Puss  in  the  Corner.  His  father,  on  Greene's  approach  to  man- 
hood, took  him  into  business,  and  soon  the  whole  care  of  one  of  the 
mills  and  forges, those  of  Powtohomnet,  fell  under  his  charge.  His  em- 
inent abilities  were  not  long  without  being  discovered  by  his  neigh- 
bors, who,  in  1770,  elected  him  to  the  General  Assembly  ;  and  he  con- 
tinued to  be  returned  by  them,  year  after  year,  until  some  time  sub- 
sequent to  his  assuming  command  of  the  southern  army.  He  took 
part  with  the  colonists  from  the  first,  and,  as  if  guided  by  a  secret 
instinct  to  his  future  destiny,  began  to  turn  his  attention  to  the  study 
of  military  science.  A  company  of  volunteers  being  formed  in  1774, 
at  East  Greenwich,  called  the  Kentish  Guards,  and  Greene  having 
failed  to  obtain  votes  sufficient  for  a  Lieutenancy,  he  patriotically 
enlisted  as  a  private.  Finding  that  there  were  no  arms  to  equip  his 
fellow  soldiers,  he  secretly  visited  Boston,  and  not  only  procured  a 
supply,  but  induced  a  deserter  to  return  with  him  as  drill  master. 
When  the  news  of  the  battle  of  Lexington  reached  Rhode  Island, 
the  drum  of  the  Kentish  Guards  beat  to  arms,  but  the  Royal  Gov- 
ernor requiring  them  to  return,  none  of  the  officers  dared  to  disobey. 
Greene,  however,  pushed  forward,  with  four  others,  whom  he  influ- 
enced to  follow  his  example.  This  conduct  was  remembered  when 
the  Assembly  proceeded,  shortly  afterwards,  to  raise  an  army  of 


NATHANAEL    GREENE.  425 

sixteen  hundred  men ;  and  Greene,  whose  ability  was  well  known 
in  that  body,  was  at  once  raised  over  all  competitors  to  the  post  of 
Major-General.  He  repaired  immediately  to  Cambridge.  When 
Congress  placed  the  forces  on  the  continental  establishment,  Greene 
was  appointed  a  Brigadier,  a  descent  in  rank  which  he  accepted 
without  complaining,  but  which  was  destined  not  to  be  of  long  du- 
ration. 

Greene  was  one  of  the  first  to  see  the  necessity  of  a  Declaration 
of  Independence,  a  measure  which  he  recommended  as  early  as  the 
4th  of  June,  1775.  The  similarity  of  jaaind  existing  between  him 
and  Washington  soon  drew  them  into  terms  of  comparative  intimacy. 
Greene  was  of  opinion,  with  the  Commander-in-chief,  that  an  attack 
should  be  made  on  Boston.  When  the  army  moved  to  New  York, 
Greene  was  selected  to  command  at  Brooklyn,  a  proof  of  the  high 
estimation  in  which  he  stood  already  with  Washington  and  the 
army.  He  immediately  began  a  careful  study  of  the  ground  on 
which  the  expected  battle  was  to  be  fought ;  but  unfortunately,  just 
as  he  had  completed  his  preparations,  he  fell  ill  of  a  bilious  fever, 
which  brought  him  to  the  brink  of  the  grave.  It  is  possible,  if  he 
had  continued  well,  that  the  struggle  on  Long  Island  might  have 
terminated  differently.  During  the  battle,  he  lay  on  his  pillow  in 
New  York,  scarcely  able  to  raise  his  head ;  and  as  the  sound  of  the 
cannon  boomed  on  his  ears  he  exclaimed,  "  Gracious  God,  to  be 
confined  at  such  a  time  !"  When  the  news  was  brought  him  of  the 
havoc  made  in  Smallwood's  heroic  band,  his  favorite  regiment,  he 
burst  into  tears.  On  his  recovery  he  was  among  the  most  active  in 
the  operations  that  succeeded.  He  had  just  been  raised  to  the  rank 
of  Major-General,  and  strongly  advised  the  abandonment  and  burn- 
ing of  New  York,  but  Congress  had  resolved  that  the  city  should  be 
held  to  the  last  extremity,  a  fatal  error !  When  it  became  advisable 
to  evacuate  Fort  Washington,  Greene  opposed  it,  declaring  the  gar- 
rison fully  competent  to  defend  the  place  ;  and,  perhaps,  his  conduct 
on  this  occasion,  arising  from  excessive  confidence,  is  the  great 
blunder  of  his  life.  Had  his  wish  been  complied  with,  however, 
and  the  command  entrusted  to  himself,  the  result  might  have  been 
different,  as  he  always  contended.  He  was  with  Washington  at 
Trenton,  and  besides  the  Commander-in-chief  and  Knox,  was  the 
only  one  for  following  up  the  blow  by  an  attack  on  all  the  posts  in 
New  Jersey.  From  this  hour  he  was  secretly  the  first  in  Washing- 
ton's estimation.  In  the  battle  of  Brandywine  he  commanded  the 
reserve.  At  Germantown  he  led  the  right  wing.  When  the  Conway 
cabal  began  its  machinations,  Greene  was  selected  as  one  of  its  first 
54  LL* 


426  THE  HEROES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 

'victims,  in  consequence  of  the  consideration  in  which  he  stood  with 
Washington  ;  and  he  continued,  for  years,  to  feel  the  evil  effects  of 
the  prejudices  excited  against  him  then,  both  as  an  officer  and  a  man. 

In  1778  he  was  appointed  Quarter-Master-General.  The  army 
immediately  felt  the  benefit  of  the  reforms  he  had  introduced  into 
his  department.  When  he  accepted  the  post,  he  reserved  the  right 
to  command  according  to  his  rank  in  the  day  of  battle,  and  conse- 
quently, in  the  fierce  struggle  at  Monmouth,  he  took  a  prominent 
part,  first  advising  an  attack  on  the  enemy,  and  afterwards  leading 
the  right  wing.  He  next  is  seen  at  Newport,  when,  during  the  siege 
under  Sullivan,  he  commanded  one  division  of  the  army.  Some 
difficulties  having  arisen  between  him  and  Congress,  in  reference  to 
his  duties  as  Quarter-Master-General,  Greene  sent  in  his  resignation 
of  that  post,  and  came  near  throwing  up  his  commission.in  the  army. 
To  nariate  the  particulars  of  this  dispute  would  extend  this  sketch 
too  far.  It  is  sufficient  to  say  that  Congress  was  unjust,  and  acting 
evidently  under  the  influence  of  prejudice ;  while  Greene,  though 
perhaps  justifiable  in  his  resentment,  did  not  emulate  the  calmness 
and  forbearance  of  Washington  under  like  treatment.  On  the  22nd 
of  June,  1780,  Greene  was  attacked  at  Springfield,  New  Jersey, 
while  at  the  head  of  but  thirteen  hundred  men,  by  two  divisions  of 
the  royal  army  numbering  twenty-five  hundred  each.  By  the  skil- 
ful manner  in  which  he  not  only  escaped  destruction,  but  managed 
to  frustrate  most  of  the  enemy's  designs,  in  part  saving  the  village 
from  the  flames,  besides  harassing  the  British  retreat,  he  gained 
universal  credit,  both  in  our  own  army  and  that  of  Sir  Henry  Clin- 
ton. When  the  treason  of  Arnold  was  detected,  and  Washington 
scarcely  knew,  for  a  while,  whom  to  trust,  the  post  of  West  Point 
was  assigned  to  Greene,  as  one  of  the  few  in  whom  the  General 
could  place  perfect  confidence.  But  scarcely  had  he  entered  on  his 
duties  when  a  letter  from  head-quarters  summoned  him  to  the  com- 
mand of  the  southern  army,  recently  made  vacant  by  the  removal 
of  Gates. 

He  stopped  at  Philadelphia  on  his  way  to  his  new  post,  and  there 
learned,  to  use  his  own  words,  that  the  army  he  was  called  to  lead, 
"  was  rather  a  shadow  than  a  substance,  having  only  an  imaginary 
existence."  Congress  could  give  him  neither  arms  nor  clothing,  nor 
could  it  hold  out  any  definite  hopes  for  the  future.  He  could,  with 
difficulty,  procure  sufficient  money  to  defray  his  personal  expenses. 
He  visited  the  capitals  of  the  various  states  lying  in  his  route,  and 
spent  a  few  days  at  each  in  endeavoring  to  arouse  the  different 
Legislatures  to  the  necessity  of  action.  His  sagacious  mind  at  once 


NATHANAEL    GREENE.  427 

perceived  the  possibility  of  a  retreat  being  necessary,  and  accordingly 
he  chose  Virginia  as  his  depot  for  stores,  in  consequence  of  being 
further  from  the  scene  of  war  than  North  Carolina,  and  therefore 
safer.  On  the  2nd  of  December,  1780,  he  reached  the  camp  at  Char- 
lotte, and  having  courteously  met  and  parted  with  Gates,  set  himself 
at  once  to  the  task  before  him.  We  cannot  follow  him  through  all 
the  events  of  the  next  three  years.  We  shall  select  two  portions  of 
his  career  only,  as  illustrative  of  the  whole,  the  retreat  through 
North  Carolina,  and  the  battle  of  Eutaw.  The  first  at  once  raised 
him  to  the  rank  of  a  master  in  strategy,  and  has  been  so  ably  de- 
picted by  the  grandson  of  the  hero,  that,  in  describing  it,  we  can 
scarcely  hope  to  improve  on  that  account.  The  retreat  began 
immediately  after  the  battle  of  the  Cowpens.  Greene's  first  movement 
had  been  that  of  a  giant  in  military  science.  In  order  to  gain  the 
initiative,  or  at  least  obtain  some  control  over  the  measures  of  the  ene- 
my, as  well  as  better  to  supply  his  army  and  raise  the  drooping  spirits 
of  the  country,  he  divided  his  little  force,  sending  Morgan,  with  six 
hundred  men,  across  the  Catawba,  while  he  took  post  himself  in  a 
camp  judiciously  selected  by  Kosciusko  at  the  junction  of  Hick's 
Creek  with  the  Great  Pedee.  Cornwallis  was  puzzled  by  this  bold 
movement,  and  for  some  time  hesitated  what  to  do.  At  last  hi 
resolved  to  effect  a  junction  with  Leslie,  and  afterwards  to  direct  the 
whole  force  of  the  army  against  Morgan,  whom  Tarleton  meantime 
was  to  follow  up,  while  Cornwallis  held  himself  ready  to  cut  off  his 
retreat.  Tarleton  began  his  pursuit  on  the  12th  of  January,  1781, 
and  on  the  17th  came  up  with  Morgan,  who  had  resolved  to  await 
him  in  hopes  of  a  victory,  which  might  throw  an  eclat  around  the 
American  arms,  and  conceal,  in  part,  the  disgrace  of  a  retreat.  The 
battle,  known  as  that  of  the  Cowpens,  succeeded,  in  which  Tarleton 
met  with  a  signal  defeat. 

The  conflict  was  scarcely  over  before  Morgan  took  measures  for 
continuing  his  retreat ;  for  he  well  knew  that  delay  would  bring 
Cornwallis,  hot  for  revenge,  upon  him.  Crossing  the  Broad  River 
the  same  evening  with  his  prisoners,  he  pushed  onward  to  the  fords 
of  the  Catawba.  Meantime,  the  news  of  the  defeat  reached  Corn- 
wallis in  his  camp  at  Winnsboro.  Chagrined,  but  not  disheartened, 
he  resolved  on  pursuing  the  victorious  Morgan,  who  was  but  twenty- 
five  miles  distant,  arid  whose  retreat  he  yet  hoped  to  cut  off.  Having 
been  joined  on  the  morning  of  the  r$th  by  Leslie's  detachment,  he  de- 
voted the  rest  of  the  day  to  collecting  the  fugitives  of  Tarleton ;  and 
early  on  the  morrow  put  his  troops  in  motion,  by  a  road  which  inter- 
sected the  line  of  Morgan's  retreat,  and  strained  every  nerve  to  over- 


428  THE  HEROES  OP  THE  REVOLUTION. 

take  them  in  season.  But  it  was  in  vain.  On  the  22nd  the  American 
General  reached  the  Catawba,and  transported  his  army  in  safety  to  the 
opposite  shore,  so  that  when,  soon  after,  Cornwallis  came  up,  he  had 
the  mortification  to  see  that  his  enemy  had  eluded  his  grasp.  The 
consequences  of  the  measures  into  which  the  strategy  of  Greene  had 
hurried  him,  now  rose  in  all  their  force  before  the  British  General's 
mind.  He  saw  the  fruits  of  Camden  already  slipping  from  his  hold. 
The  inhabitants,  after  the  success  of  the  Cowpens,  hesitated  to 
declare  for  him.  He  beheld  himself,  a  second  time,  cut  off  from  his 
march  on  North  Carolina.  One  resource  only  was  left  him.  By  a 
rapid  pursuit,  he  might  hope  yet  to  crush  Morgan  before  the  latter 
could  join  the  main  army  ;  and  then,  if  with  one  vigorous  push,  he 
could  overtake  Greene,  the  American  cause  would  be  ruined.  To 
the  execution  of  this  bold  scheme,  Cornwallis  accordingly  now  de- 
voted all  the  energies  of  his  rapid  mind.  It  was  first  necessary, 
however,  to  convert  his  army  into  light  troops,  and  to  do  this,  he 
resolved  on  the  hazardous  expedient  of  destroying  the  baggage. 
The  example  was  set  by  himself.  The  baggage  of  head-quarters  was 
first  given  to  the  flames.  That  of  the  soldiers  promptly  followed. 
Only  a  small  supply  of  clothing,  and  a  few  wagons  for  hospital  stores 
and  for  the  sick  were  preserved.  Two  days  were  devoted  to  this 
task.  On  the  third,  stripped  for  the  race,  the  British  army  renewed 
the  pursuit. 

But  Greene,  meanwhile,  had  not  been  idle.  His  inferior  force  did 
not  allow  him  as  yet  to  entertain  the  thought  of  giving  battle ;  but 
lie  was  incessantly  occupied  in  strengthening  it,  with  the  hope  of 
soon  being  adequate  to  the  trial.  At  the  same  time,  however,  he 
prepared,  with  far  seeing  sagacity,  for  a  protracted  retreat,  in  case 
it  should  prove  necessary.  He  ordered  all  provisions  to  be  brought 
to  camp  that  did  not  lie  along  the  contemplated  route  ;  the  stores  at 
Salisbury  and  Hillsboro  were  held  in  readiness  to  move,  at  a  mo- 
ment's warning,  on  the  upper  counties  of  Virginia  ;  and,  to  provide 
for  the  most  remote  contingencies,  the  Quarter-Master-General  was 
directed  to  form  a  magazine  on  the  Roanoke,  and  hold  his  boats  in 
readiness  on  the  Dan.  The  prisoners  taken  by  Morgan,  who  had 
been  sent  on  in  advance,  the  instant  that  General  crossed  the 
Catawba,  were  despatched  to  Virginia  with  General  Stevens,  under 
the  escort  of  a  number  of  the  troops  whose  terms  of  enlistment  had 
expired.  Having  completed  these  arrangements,  Greene  left  the 
main  army  to  pursue  its  march  to  Salisbury,  and  throwing  himself 
on  horseback,  started  to  join  Morgan,  in  order  to  lend  the  influence 
of  his  garrison  to  extricate  that  officer.  His  way  lay  across  the 


XATHANAEL    GREENE  429 

country  for  a  hundred  and  fifty  miles,  yet  he  could  only  allow  him- 
self, for  protection,  a  single  aid  and  a  Serjeant's  guard  of  dragoons. 
He  reached  the  camp  of  Morgan  on  the  30th  of  January.  On  being 
told  that  Cornwallis  had  destroyed  his  baggage,  the  prophetic  mind 
of  Greene  saw,  through  the  long  vista  of  events  to  come,  the  conse- 
quences of  the  act.  "  He  is  ours,"  he  cried  exultingly.  .  And  a  day 
or  two  after,  having  determined  on  his  memorable  retreat,  he  wrote, 
"  I  am  not  without  hopes  of  ruining  Lord  Cornwallis,  if  he  persists 
in  his  mad  scheme  of  pushing  through  the  country." 

To  understand  the  series  of  movements  that  followed,  it  is  neces- 
sary to  look  at  the  map.  Three  rivers  rise  in  the  upper  parts  of  the 
Carolinas,  and  flow  in  a  south-easterly  direction  towards  the  Atlantic. 
The  first  is  the  Catawba ;  the  second  the  Yadkin ;  and  the  last  arid 
most  northern  the  Dan.  This  latter  river  at  first  follows  the  same 
course  with  the  others,  but  finally,  changing  its  direction,  winds 
backwards  and  forwards  over  the  Virginia  line.  To  retreat  from 
the  Catawba  north,  the  route  of  Greene  would  cut  each  of  these 
rivers  in  succession.  To  place  a  deep  river  between  a  pursuing 
army  and  the  pursued,  is  to  give  the  latter  a  breathing  spell ;  while 
for  the  pursuing  to  overtake  a  retreating  army  between  two  rivers,  is 
almost  certain  ruin  for  the  latter.  Accordingly  the  efforts  of  Corn- 
wallis were  directed  to  entrap  his  adversary  in  this  situation.  It 
had  been  apparent  to  Greene  from  the  first  that  his  enemy  intended 
crossing  the  Catawba  as  soon  as  the  heavy  rains,  which  had  swollen 
the  river,  should  subside  sufficiently  to  allow  a  passage.  On  the 
31st  it  became  evident  that  the  waters  were  falling.  Morgan  was 
accordingly  ordered  to  push  on  with  the  regulars  for  the  Yadkin, 
while  at  the  same  time  an  express  was  despatched  to  the  main  army, 
directing  it  to  rendezvous  at  Guilford  instead  of  Salisbury.  Morgan 
would  have  sought  the  refuge  of  the  mountains,  and  openly  declared 
he  would  not  answer  for  the  consequences  unless  this  was  done. 
"  Neither  shall  you,"  replied  Greene,  who  never  shrunk  from 
responsibility,  "  for  I  will  take  the  measure  upon  myself."  Having 
thus  sent  forward  the  regular  troops,  Greene  left  a  body  of  militia 
to  harass  the  enemy  in  crossing  the  Catawba.  They  were  about 
five  hundred  in  number,  chiefly  drawn  from  the  neighboring  dis- 
tricts, and  were  under  the  command  of  General  Davidson,  in  whom 
they  placed  unbounded  confidence.  Greene  himself  retired  to  a 
place  selected  for  the  rendezvous,  sixteen  miles  in  advance  on  the 
road  to  Salisbury.  Day  was  just  breaking,  on  the  morning  of  the 
1st  of  February,  when  the  British  column  advanced  to  the  ford. 
The  rain  fell  in  torrents ;  the  prospect  was  dark  and  lowering ;  and 


430  THE  HEROES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 

the  waters  whirling  and  foaming  by,  flashed  back  the  fitful  glare  of 
the  American  watch-fires  on  the  opposite  bank.  It  was  a  scene  to 
appal  an  ordinary  enemy ;  but  the  soldiers  of  Cornwallis,  without  a 
pause,  plunged  into  the  roaring  torrent.  The  waters  soon  rose  to 
their  waists.  Frequently  the  men  were  swept  from  their  foot- 
holds. General  O'Hara  was  carried  down  the  stream  and  came  near 
losing  his  life.  But  the  cavalry  struggled  manfully  on ;  while  the 
grenadiers,  leaning  on  each  other,  presented  an  adamantine  wall  to 
the  rushing  waters.  When  half  way  across,  the  muskets  of  the 
Americans  blazed  through  the  gloom,  and  the  battle  began.  Nothing 
intimidated,  the  gallant  veterans  of  Cornwallis  pressed  on,  and 
though  numbers  continually  dropped  from  the  ranks,  the  rest 
steadily  persevered,  and  gaining  the  bank,  after  a  sharp  conflict, 
dispersed  the  handful  of  militia.  General  Davidson,  in  mount- 
ing his  horse  to  direct  a  retreat,  was  shot  dead,  on  which  his 
men  fled  in  every  direction,  most  of  them  taking  to  the  woods. 
Cornwallis  himself  had  a  narrow  escape.  His  horse  was  wound- 
ed while  yet  in  the  water,  and  though  the  noble  animal  strug- 
gled to  the  shore,  he  fell  the  moment  he  reached  it.  Tarleton  pur- 
suing the  advantage,  overtook  some  of  the  fugitives  about  ten  miles 
from  the  ford.  The  militia,  trained  to  fire  from  their  horses,  received 
him  with  a  volley,  and  dashed  into  the  woods.  A  pursuit  was  use- 
less, arid  the  British  Colonel  was  forced  to  return  with  a  loss  of  seven 
men  and  twenty  horses. 

Meanwhile  Greene  remained  at  the  rendezvous,  ignorant  of  the 
result  of  the  skirmish,  and  tormented  with  anxiety.  The  rain  still 
fell  in  torrents  and  he  was  drenched  to  the  skin.  At  last,  about 
midnight,  a  messenger  arrived  with  the  news  of  the  defeat.  Turning 
his  horse's  head  to  Salisbury,  he  alighted  at  that  place  towards  morn- 
ing completely  worn  out.  His  friend,  Dr.  Read,  had  been  waiting  his 
arrival,  and  observing  the  expression  of  his  face,  anxiously  inquired 
how  he  was.  "  Fatigued,  hungry,  alone  and  penniless,"  was  the  almost 
despondent  reply  of  Greene.  The  last  word  struck  the  ear  of  his 
landlady,  and  when  he  had  sat  down  to  breakfast,  she  entered  the 
room,  and  cautiously  fastening  the  door,  drew  from  under  her  apron 
two  small  bags  of  specie.  "Take  these,"  said  she,  "for  you  will 
want  them  and  I  can  do  without  them."  This  simple  offering 
touched  the  heart  of  the  defeated  commander.  He  took  the  money, 
for  he  was  truly  without  a  penny;  and  the  gift  proved  afterwards 
of  the  greatest  .value  in  procuring  intelligence.  What  more  beautiful 
than  this  touching  incident  of  a  woman's  patriotism  ? 

The  army  of  Morgan  had  meantime  gained  a  day  on  that  of 


NATHANAEL    GREENE. 


431 


THE    LANDLADY   OFFERING    HER  MOtiEY   TO   GEXERAf,   GKEESK. 


Cornwailis.  But  the  latter  General,  mounting  a  part  of  his  infantry 
on  the  horses  left  by  the  destruction  of  the  baggage,  hastened  tc  send 
them  forward,  with  the  cavalry,  in  order  to  overtake  the  enemy. 
Greene,  however,  had  now  joined  the  little  army,  and,  under  the 
eye  of  their  leader,  the  men  pressed  on,  regardless  of  the  toil.  It 
was  the  height  of  the  southern  winter.  The  rain  fell  incessantly. 
The  roads  were  of  clay,  deep  and  miry.  But  the  same  torrents 
which  retarded  the  troops  would  also  swell  the  Yadkin ;  and  could 
the  fugitives  only  place  it  between  them  and  their  foes,  they  might 
repose  again  in  safety.  Sustained  by  this  hope,  they  struggled 
forward,  until,  on  the  third  day,  they  gained  the  banks  of  the  river. 
The  boats  provided  by  the  foresight  of  Greene,  in  contemplation  of 
this  emergency,  were  fortunately  in  readiness,  and,  in  a  short  time, 
the  main  body  of  the  army  was  transported  to  the  other  shore. 
Midnight  arrived  before  the  rear  guard  had  crossed,  when  suddenly 
the  advanced  column  of  the  enemy  came  up.  Though  almost  broken 
down  by  toil,  the  Americans  sprang  at  once  to  their  arms,  and  a 
sharp  skirmish  ensued.  O'Hara  tried  in  vain  to  seize  some  of  the 
boats.  The  rear  guard  succeeded  in  crossing,  and,  in  a  few  minutes, 
the  British  General  beheld  his  enemy  quietly  encamped  on  the  op- 
posite bank,  while  the  river,  swollen  so  as  to  be  no  longer  fordable, 
roared  in  wild  volume  at  his  feet.  Mortified  at  seeing  the  foe  thns 


432  THE   HEROES    OF    THE    REVOLUTION. 

slip  from  his  very  grasp,  he  opened  a  furious  cannonade,  but  to  little 
purpose,  the  camp  of  the  Americans  being  sheltered  behind  a  low 
ridge.  Not  far  from  the  river,  half  concealed  by  a  pile  of  rocks, 
stood  a  solitary  cabin,  in  which  Greene  sat  down  to  write  his  de- 
spatches, stealing  for  the  purpose  the  hours  allotted  to  sleep.  Sus- 
pecting its  inhabitant,  the  British  directed  the  fire  of  their  batteries 
on  this  spot.  The  shot  soon  bounded  on  the  neighboring  rocks,  and 
shivered  into  splinters  the  pine  saplings  around.  Still  Greene  wrote 
on.  As  the  aim  of  the  artillerists  improved,  the  balls  were  heard 
whistling  over  the  hut.  Still  he  wrote  on.  At  last  a  shot  struck 
the  roof,  knocking  the  clapboards  in  every  direction.  Una  wed,  the 
General  wrote  on,  and  continued  to  do  so  through  the  night,  though 
the  roar  and  blaze  of  the  artillery  went  on  without  cessation. 

Greene  remained  but  a  day  upon  the  banks  of  the  Yadkin,  when, 
having  recruited  his  troops,  he  advanced  to  the  forks  of  Abbott's 
Creek,  a  secure  position,  where  he  passed  four  days.  He  was 
extremely  eager  to  give  Gornwallis  battle,  and  made  this  halt  in 
order,  if  possible,  to  induce  the  militia  to  join  him.  But  he  was 
doomed  to  disappointment.  His  accessions  of  force  were  inconside- 
rable, and  on  the  9th,  when  the  main  body  joined  the  division  of 
Morgan,  at  Guilford,  the  returns  showed  only  a  force  of  i*venty-six 
hundred  men,  fit  for  duty.  Cornwallis,  it  was  well  known,  had 
nearly  three  thousand,  superior  in  discipline,  accoutrements,  aud, 
more  than  all,  in  the  prestige  of  success.  To  hazard  a  battle,  with 
such  a  disparity,  would  have  ensured  defeat;  and  defeat  would  have 
been  followed  by  the  loss  of  both  North  Carolina  and  Virginia.  It 
became  necessary,  therefore,  to  continue  the  retreat.  Meantime 
Cornwallis,  growing  more  eager  than  ever  to  crush  his  enemy,  had 
passed  up  the  Yadkin  until  he  found  a  ford  where  he  could  cross. 
Having  been  foiled  in  preventing  the  junction  of  the  two  divisions 
of  the  American  army,  he  was  now  intent  on  bringing  it  to  battle 
before  it  could  reach  the  shelter  of  the  Dan.  Twice  had  Greene 
eluded  him  when  at  the  very  moment  of  victory.  He  was  resolved 
that,  this  third  time,  there  should  be  no  escape.  The  Dan  was  only 
fordable  high  up,  and  Cornwallis  being  nearer  to  those  fords  than 
his  enemy,  supposed  that  no  course  was  left  for  Greene  but  to  meet 
his  pursuers  or  fly  to  the  lower  ferries,  where  there  were  no  means 
of  transportation.  The  British  General  had  satisfied  himself  from 
the  manoeuvres  of  his  antagonist,  that  the  latter  intended  to  retreat 
on  a  ferry  called  Dix's,  and  accordingly  he  had  taken  a  position 
on  Greene's  left,  which  brought  him  as  near  to  that  place  as  the 
American  General. 


NATHANAEL    GREENE.  433 

The  sagacity  of  the  latter  instantly  penetrated  this  design,  which 
he  saw  with  secret  exultation,  favored  his  own  plan.  He  would 
have  gained  nothing  by  placing  a  fordable  river  between  himself 
and  his  foe,  for  he  was  deficient  in  artillery,  so  necessary  to  defend 
the  passage  of  such  a  stream.  It  had  never  been  his  intention, 
therefore,  to  retire  on  the  upper  ferries  of  the  Dan.  On  the  contrary 
he  had,  long  before,  prepared  boats  at  the  lower  ferries,  for  the 
possible  contingency  of  a  retreat  in  that  direction.  He  chose  this 
route,  moreover,  because  it  would  bring  him  nearer  the  base  of  his 
operations.  The  magazines  he  had  collected  at  Roanoke  were  in 
this  quarter,  and  here  also  was  he  to  look  for  the  reinforcements 
from  Virginia.  But  it  was  all  important  for  the  safety  and  ease  of 
his  troops  that  Cornwallis  should  not  suspect  his  true  design,  and 
consequently  the  American  General  hastened  to  take  such  mea- 
sures as  would  effectually  maintain  his  enemy's  delusion.  The 
distance  from  Guilford  to  Boyd's  Ferry,  where  his  boats  were  col- 
lected, was  about  seventy  miles,  considerably  less  than  the  distance 
of  Cornwallis  from  the  same  place.  To  deceive  the  enemy  as  to  his 
course  and  thus  still  further  to  increase  the  distance  between  the  two 
armies.  Greene  formed  a  covering  detachment  of  seven  hundred 
picked  men,  partly  composed  of  the  conquerors  at  the  Cowperis, 
partly  of  militia  riflemen,  and  the  remaining  part  of  Washington's 
cavalry  and  Lee's  celebrated  legion.  The  whole  was  placed  under 
the  command  of  Col.  Otho  Williams.  With  this  chosen  band  Wil- 
liams was  ordered  to  throw  himself  between  the  two  armies  and  taking 
the  road  towards  the  upper  ferries,  hang  back  so  close  on  the  foe  as  to 
conceal  the  movements  of  the  main  body  of  the  Americans.  When 
Greene  should  have  safely  crossed  the  Dan,  Williams  was  to  unmask, 
and  make  a  forced  march  on  Boyd's  Ferry. 

The  whole  nation  was,  meantime,  watching  the  struggle.  Nearly 
a  month  had  passed  since  the  desperate  trial  of  skill  began.  The 
news  of  the  victory  at  the  Cowpens  had  first  arrested  the  public  at- 
tention to  the  proceedings  of  Greene,  and  turned  every  eye  in  the 
direction  of  the  Carolinas.  Then  had  followed  the  pursuit  of  Corn- 
wallis, the  bloody  passage  of  the  Catawba,  and  the  continued  retreat 
of  the  Americans.  Greene's  masterly  manoeuvres  had  taken  the 
country  by  surprise  !  The  existence  of  such  genius  in  him  had  not  been 
imagined,  and  all  awaited  with  breathless  interest  the  conclusion  of 
the  drama.  The  struggle  was  now  drawing  to  a  close.  On  the  10th 
of  February  the  two  armies  were  only  twenty-five  miles  apart. 
There  lay  but  one  river  more  between  Cornwallis  and  Virginia,  and 
the  slightest  blunder  on  the  part  of  Greene  would  crush  the  Ame- 
55  MM 


434  THE  HEROES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 

ricans  forever.  The  fate  of  the  south  trembled  in  the  balance.  At 
last  Greene  put  his  main  army  into  motion  for  Boyd's  Ferry,  and 
Williams,  as  directed,  threw  himself  on  the  van  of  the  British  Gene- 
ral, and  took  the  route  for  Dix's.  As  the  army  of  Greene  stretched 
away  on  its  march,  the  devoted  band  left  behind  gazed  with  strangely 
mingled  feelings,  for  few  ever  expected  to  behold  it  again.  On 
fled  the  fugitives,  scarcely  allowing  time  for  food  or  rest, — on 
through  storm  and  sunshine, — on  through  ice  and  thaw, — on, 
from  early  dawn  till  long  after  dark.  The  roads  were  drenched 
with  rain  one  day,  and  frozen  stiff  the  next,  and  for  miles  the 
track  of  the  fugitives  was  marked  with  blood  from  their  lacera- 
ted feet.  There  was  but  one  blanket  among  four  men.  Such  was 
the  haste  witli  which  they  marched  that  they  were  compelled  to  dry 
their  wet  clothes  by  the  heat  of  their  bodies.  At  every  step  of  their 
progress  they  feared  lest  Cornwallis  should  discover  the  truth,  and 
thundering  fast  in  pursuit,  overtake  them  yet  before  they  reached  the 
Dan.  Greene  himself  was  such  a  prey  to  anxiety  and  watching  that  he 
did  not  sleep  four  hours  during  the  whole  period  occupied  in  reaching 
the  Dan.  At  last,  on  the  evening  of  the  fourth  day,  the  army  gain- 
ed the  welcome  river,  and  by  the  ensuing  morning  all  the  troops  had 
crossed.  The  American  General,  now  despatching  a  courier  to  an- 
nounce his  safety  to  Williams,  remained  on  the  southern  shore,  in 
deep  anxiety,  awaiting  his  arrival. 

When  the  main  body  of  the  Americans  had  moved  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  lower  ferries,  Williams,  as  we  have  seen,  by  pressing  close 
on  the  enemy's  van  had  effectually  concealed  that  movement.  When 
he  reached  the  road  where  Greene  had  turned  off,  he  had  kept  the 
one  leading  to  Dix's ;  and,  with  secret  joy,  he  beheld  the  success  of 
his  stratagem,  as  Cornwallis,  neglecting  the  other  route,  pressed  close 
after  him.  The  legion  of  Lee,  being  admirably  mounted,  was  left  in 
the  rear.  Numerous  detachments  were  sent  out  in  every  direction 
to  observe  the  enemy  and  give  the  earliest  intelligence  of  an  opening 
for  attack.  Every  night  the  camp  was  pitched  at  a  considerable  dis- 
tance from  the  foe.  So  manifold  were  the  duties  each  soldier  had  to 
perform,  that  but  six  hours  out  of  forty-eight  were  allowed  for  sleep. 
The  troops  were  always  in  motion  before  day-break.  By  forcing  a 
march,  a  breakfast  and  halt  of  an  hour  in  the  forenoon,  was  secured; 
and  this  was  the  only  meal  eaten  during  the  day  :  for  at  night,  when 
the  camp  was  made,  the  men  were  so  exhausted  that  sleep  triumph- 
ed over  hunger,  and  those  off  duty,  flinging  themselves  on  the  ground, 
were  immediately  lost  in  slumber.  More  than  once  the  rear-guard 
of  Williams  and  the  advance  of  Cornwallis  approached  within  mus- 


NATHANAEL    GREENE.  435 

ket  shot,  and  it  was  with  extreme  difficulty  that  the  respective  com- 
manders could  restrain  their  troops  from  engaging.  But  the  British 
General  wished  to  reserve  himself  for  the  last  struggle,  which  he  was 
confident  was  close  at  hand  ;  and  Williams  was  unwilling  to  strike 
until  he  could  give  some  terrible  blow.  Thus  four  days  passed.  At 
last  Williams,  thinking  that  sufficient  time  had  elapsed  for  Greene  to 
reach  and  cross  the  Dan,  cautiously  drew  off  his  men  in  the  direction 
of  the  lower  ferries.  On  the  same  day  Cornwallis  learned,  for  the 
first  time,  the  trick  played  upon  him,  and  hastily  crossing  into  the 
proper  road,  found  himself,  on  a  sudden,  once  more  in  the  rear  of  the 
light  troops. 

And  now  ensued  a  closing  struggle,  the  parallel  to  which  is  scarcely 
to  be  found  in  history.  On  the  one  side  Cornwallis,  chafed  by  his  in- 
cessant repulses,  resolved  to  revenge  himself  and  exterminate  the  little 
band  before  him ;  on  the  other  hand  Williams,  knowing  that  the 
race  was  for  life  or  death,  strained  every  muscle  to  effect  his  escape. 
The  night  came,  chill  and  damp  ;  the  roads  were  broken  and  deep  ; 
and  the  men,  worn  down  by  a  month's  marching,  staggered  feebly 
on.  In  vain  they  hoped  that  Cornwallis  would  halt ;  still  onward 
he  stretched  through  that  gloomy  night.  The  darkness  increased  ; 
the  rain  began  to  fall ;  and  the  way  grew  more  difficult ;  yet  still  the 
sullen  tramp  of  the  enemy  was  heard  in  pursuit,  and  still  the  Ameri- 
cans toiled  on.  At  last  the  gleam  of  watch-fires  was  seen  in  the  dis- 
tance ahead,  and  at  the  sight,  Williams,  fearing  that  Greene  had  not 
escaped,  resolved  to  offer  himself  up,  with  his  heroic  corps,  to  save 
the  main  army  ;  but  happily  it  was  discovered  in  time  that  what  he 
saw  was  only  the  embers  of  the  camp,  and  that  the  Americans  were 
far  in  the  advance,  sweeping  onward  through  the  gloom  and  rain.  Fi- 
nally the  British  halted,  and  then  Williams  gave  his  men  a  few 
hours  respite.  But  at  midnight  the  troops  were  roused  and  the  re- 
treat recommenced.  Nor  was  it  long  before  Cornwallis  was  also  in 
motion.  He  still  hoped  to  find  Greene  cooped  up  between  him  and 
the  Dan,  for  want  of  boats  to  cross.  But  he  knew  that  everything 
depended  on  speed.  Forty  miles  only  lay  between  him  and  the  river, 
and  this  distance  he  was  resolved  to  traverse,  if  possible,  before  he 
allowed  his  troops  repose.  Williams  was  equally  aware  of  the  value 
of  the  next  twenty-four  hours.  Mile  vanished  after  mile,  hour  suc- 
ceeded hour,  and  as  the  goal  drew  nearer,  the  struggle  became  more 
close  and  fierce.  The  usual  time  was  scarcely  allowed  for  refresh- 
ment, and  then  the  Americans  resumed  their  hurried  march.  The 
strife  now  grew  thrillingly  interesting.  All  through  the  hours  of  that 
long,  dark  night ;  all  through  the  early  portion  of  that  wintry  morn- 


436  THE    HEROES    OF   THE    REVOLUTION. 

ing;  over  roads  at  first  slippery  and  frozen,  but  now  thawed  and 
yielding,  the  one  army  had  fled,  and  the  other  pursued  ;  and  as  the 
Americans  hastily  swallowed  their  frugal  breakfast,  they  fancied  they 
heard  again  the  tread  of  the  foe,  and  resuming  their  ranks,  taxed 
their  sinews  again  in  a  last  desperate  strain  to  reach  the  goal. 

Noon  at  last  arrived,  and  with  it  an  express  announcing  the  safety 
of  Greene.  The  joyful  intelligence  passed  along  the  line,  and  the 
soldiers,  re-invigorated,  pushed  forward  with  renewed  alacrity.  The 
infantry  of  Williams  went  first,  then  folio  wed  the  legion  of  Lee.  By 
three  o'clock  the  river  was  only  fourteen  miles  distant.  The  infan- 
try now  turned  off  by  the  shortest  route,  and  hastening  to  the  ferry, 
were  borne  in  safety  across.  Cornwallis,  finding  himself  approach- 
ing the  Dan,  and  seeing  no  signs  of  Greene,  began  to  suspect  the 
truth,  and  redoubled  his  exertions  to  overtake  the  rear-guard,  vow- 
ing angrily  to  sacrifice  it  to  his  vengeance.  But  Lee,  no  longer 
caring  to  watch  the  foe,  bent  every  effort  only  to  gain  the  ferry.  The 
boats  which  carried  Williams  across  had  scarcely  returned  when  the 
legionaries  stood  on  the  bank.  The  men  instantly  leaped  in  and  took 
their  seats ;  the  horses  were  led  by  the  bridles  and  made  to  swim ;  and 
the  last  of  the  fugitives  finally  left  the  shore.  The  night,by  this  time, 
was  beginning  to  fall ;  the  river  surged  dark  beneath ;  and  only  a 
few  stars  glimmered  through  the  stormy  rack  of  heaven.  All  was 
desolate  and  forbidding  in  the  landscape — yet  not  all,  for  on  the  fur- 
ther bank  of  the  Dan  gleamed  welcome  watch  fires,  and  there  stood 
Greene  and  Williams  waiting  to  receive  their  companions  in  arms! 
When  the  boats  touched  the  bank,  and  the  legions  had  safely  landed, 
a  shout  went  up  from  the  assembled  host  that  shook  the  forests  around 
and  echoed  far  down  the  sky.  As  Lee  stepped  on  shore  he  rushed 
into  the  arms  of  Williams ;  then  looking  back  across  the  turbid  wa- 
ters, he  saw  the  shadowy  forms  of  his  pursuers  just  emerging  on  the 
other  bank.  But  he  had  escaped,  and  the  Carolinas  were  free  ! 

Greene  did  not,  however,  remain  long  in  Virginia.  Having  re- 
ceived a  reinforcement,  he  crossed  the  Dan  again,  within  a  few  days, 
and  began  that  series  of  masterly  mariCEiivres  which  led  to  the  bat- 
tle of  Guilford  Court-House.  After  this  sanguinary  struggle,  Corn- 
wallis determined  to  invade  Virginia ;  for  he  already  found  himself 
in  a  dilemma  in  consequence  of  having  been  led  so  far  away  from 
his  base.  Greene  immediately  conceived  the  bold  plan  of  returning 
into  the  Carolinas.  He  accordingly  retraced  the  route  over  which  he 
had  so  lately  retreated.  At  the  news  of  his  approach,  consternation 
seized  the  tories  and  even  the  royal  troops.  Lord  Rawdon,  as  the 


NATHANAEL    GREENE.  437 

last  hope,  resolved  to  attack  him,  and  the  battle  of  Hobkirk's 
Hill  ensued,  in  which  Greene  met  a  repulse.  But  the  check  did  not 
amount  to  a  positive  defeat,  and  in  a  few  days,  the  American  army 
being  again  ready  for  combat,  Rawdon  considered  it  advisable  to 
abandon  the  vicinity  of  Camden  and  retire  towards  Charleston.  The 
operations  against  Ninety-Six  followed.  Having  spent  the  hottest  of 
the  summer  months  in  the  salubrious  heights  of  Santee,  Greene  ad- 
vanced, in  the  beginning  of  September,  to  the  lower  country,  resolv- 
ing to  employ  his  forces  in  expelling  the  British  from  the  few  towns 
they  still  occupied  in  South  Carolina.  As  the  Americans  advanced, 
the  royalists  retired.  At  Eutaw  Springs  the  enemy  halted  and  en- 
trenched themselves.  Greene  followed  them  up,  and  on  the  8th  of 
September,  1781,  attacked  them.  The  battle  was,  perhaps,  the 
fiercest  of  the  whole  war  :  one-third  of  the  American  army  being  left 
upon  the  field ;  while  the  royal  troops  suffered  even  more. 

The  British,  on  this  bloody  day,  were  commanded  by  General 
Stewart.  They  numbered  in  all  two  thousand  three  hundred  men, 
a  force  rather  superior  to  that  of  the  Americans.  They  were  drawn 
up  with  great  skill  in  a  highly  advantageous  position.  Greene  set 
his  army  in  motion  for  the  attack  about  an  hour  after  daybreak. 
The  sky  was  cloudless,  and  the  road  lying  through  an  open  wood, 
where  the  dew  had  scarcely  yet  dried  on  the  blades  of  grass,  the 
troops  were  invigorated,  rather  than  fatigued  by  their  march  of  a  few 
hours.  When  about  four  miles  from  Eutaw,  the  advance  of  the 
Americans  came  into  collision  with  a  detachment  of  the  British,  sent 
out  to  reconnoitre.  The  enemy  broke  and 'fled.  The  Americans, 
with  Lee  in  the  front,  followed  up  their  victory,  and  arriving  at  the 
little  river  at  Eutaw,  beheld  the  main  body  of  the  enemy  drawn  up 
in  a  single  line  within  the  border  of  a  wood,  the  right  resting  on  the 
Charleston  road,  but  the  left  wholly  unprotected.  The  American 
militia,  led  by  Marion  and  Pickens,  moved  in  the  advance,  with  the 
artillery  of  Gaines.  The  fight  immediately  became  furious.  The 
militia,  behaving  with  the  intrepidity  of  veterans,  stood  unmoved 
before  the  British  fire,  while  unremitting  streams  of  musketry  poured 
from  flank  to  flank  along  the  American  line.  The  enemy,  aston- 
ished to  find  raw  troops  so  stubborn,  increased  his  efforts  to  break 
their  line.  His  artillery  soon  dismounted  the  two  pieces  of  Gaines, 
though  not  until  the  American  battery  had  dismounted  one  of 
the  guns  of  the  enemy.  At  last,  after  they  had  delivered  seventeen 
rounds  a  man,  the  militia  in  the  centre  began  to  retire.  Greene 
promptly  hurried  up  the  corps  of  Sumter  to  fill  the  chasm.  The 


438  THE    HEROES    OP    THE    REVOLUTION. 

battle  was  now  renewed  with  more  obstinacy  than  ever.  The 
British  General,  trembling  for  the  fate  of  the  day,  brought  up  his 
reserves  at  this  crisis,  and  the  next  half  hour  witnessed  the  most 
superhuman  exertions  on  his  part  and  that  of  his  troops  to  achieve 
a  victory.  At  last,  after  a  desperate  struggle,  the  centre  of  the 
Americans  again  gave  way ;  and  the  British,  seeing  this,  pressed 
forward  with  loud  shouts,  and  with  such  ardor  that  their  line  became 
disordered.  This  was  the  critical  moment  for  which  Greene  had 
waited.  Bringing  up  the  tried  battalions  of  Williams  and  Howard, 
which  he  had  reserved  for  the  crisis,  he  ordered  them  to  advance  with 
trailed  arms,  and,  retaining  their  fire,  sweep  the  field  with  the  bayonet. 

It  would  have  warmed  the  coldest  bosom  to  have  witnessed  that 
gallant  charge,  arid  the  equally  gallant  manner  in  which,  for  a  while, 
the  enemy  withstood  it.  Howard  came  splendidly  to  the  encounter  ! 
For  a  few  moments  while  he  advanced  the  air  rung  with  huzzas  from  the 
contending  armies.  Showers  of  bullets  from  the  enemy  rapidly  thinned 
the  ranks  of  the  brave  Marylanders  ;  but  still  they  pressed  on,  not  a 
man  pulling  a  trigger  until  they  were  within  a  few  paces  of  the 
hostile  line.  At  sight  of  that  unshaken  front  the  British  regiments 
began  to  give  way,  the  panic  beginning  at  the  left  and  extending  to 
the  centre.  But  here  a  crack  corps,  the  Bluffs,  was  posted,  which, 
instead  of  shrinking  from  the  bayonet,  came  resolutely  to  the  charge. 
With  loud  shouts  the  two  parties  met  in  full  career.  Some  fell  at 
once  pierced  to  the  heart.  Others,  losing  their  footing,  tumbled 
headlong  and  were  instantly  trodden  down.  The  bayonets  of  both 
sides  speedily  becoming  interlocked,  the  combatants  swayed  to  and 
fro,  like  a  mass  of  foliage  tossed  by  contending  winds.  At  last  the 
British  line  broke.  Seeing  this,  Howard  sprang  to  the  front  and 
ordered  his  brave  Marylanders  to  pour  in  their  fire,  on  which  the 
enemy  fled  in  confusion,  the  Americans  sweeping  in  a  solid  mass 
after  them,  like  a  wave  of  glittering  steel.  So  utter  was  the  rout 
that  many  of  the  royal  soldiers  did  not  pause  in  their  flight  until  they 
reached  Charleston,  where  such  tales  of  the  prowess  and  numbers  of 
the  Americans  were  told,  that  every  able  bodied  man  was  impressed 
to  defend  the  capital  in  this  its  last  extremity. 

But,  during  the  pursuit,  the  Americans  had  reached  the  camp 
of  the  enemy,  where  the  tents  were  still  standing  and  the  stores 
lying  invitingly  in  view.  Most  of  the  militia  hastened  to  avail 
themselves  of  the  unusual  luxuries.  But  the  legion  of  Lee  still 
pressed  on,  in  hot  chase  of  a  detachment  which  was  straining  to 
gain  a  brick  house,  defended  in  the  rear  by  a  garden  with  palisades, 


NATHANAEL    GREENE.  439 

and  on  the  right  by  a  ravine  and  thicket,  rendered  impassable  by 
low,  craggy  shrubs.  The  enemy  reached  the  entrance  first,  and 
rushed  in ;  yet  so  close  was  Lee  upon  him,  that  one  of  his  men  got 
half  way  within  the  door,  and  for  a  moment  there  was  a  sharp 
struggle,  his  companions  endeavoring  to  push  him  in,  and  the  British 
to  thrust  him  out.  At  last  the  enemy  prevailed,  though  several  of 
his  own  men  and  officers  were  excluded.  A  heavy  fire  was  in- 
stantly opened  from  the  upper  windows,  on  which  the  assailants, 
holding  their  prisoners  before  them,  retreated.  Meantime  the  Bri- 
tish left,  which  had  been  posted  in  a  thicket,  under  Major  Majori- 
banks,  had,  until  this  period,  resisted  every  effort  to  dislodge  it.  The 
troop  of  Washington,  which  had  been  led  up  to  charge  it,  was 
completely  shattered,  with  the  loss  of  every  officer  but  two,  Wash- 
ington himself  having  his  horse  shot  under  him,  and  being  made  a 
prisoner.  But  now,  the  rest  of  the  line  having  retreated,  Majori- 
banks  became  exposed  on  the  flank,  and  fell  back  slowly  towards 
the  house,  still  clinging  to  the  cover  of  the  woods  and  ravine. 

Here,  resting  on  the  picketed  garden,  he  took  a  new  position.  On 
the  right,  the  British  cavalry  under  Coffin  had  drawn  up  in  an  open 
field  to  the  west  of  the  Charleston  road.  Thus  supported  on  both 
flanks,  and  protected  by  the  fire  from  the  house,  Stewart  rallied  his 
broken  regiments  and  stubbornly  prepared  to  contest  the  day  anew. 
Greene,  hastening  to  complete  his  victory,  had  brought  up  his  artil- 
lery to  batter  the  house,  but  the  pieces  proved  too  light  to  make  any 
impression  on  the  walls;  while  the  rattling  volleys  that  blazed 
unceasingly  from  the  windows  soon  smote  down  every  man  at  the 
guns.  At  this  instant,  and  while  some  of  the  militia  were  still  in 
the  tents,  Coffin  charged  with  his  cavalry,  while  Majoribanks  on  the 
other  flank  advanced  with  his  brave  veterans.  In  vain  the  Ameri- 
can horse  dashed  forward  to  repulse  the  assailants ;  though  successful 
for  a  while,  the  tremendous  fire  of  Majoribanks  checked  them  at 
last ;  and  then,  perceiving  his  advantage,  the  enemy  sprang  forward, 
seized  the  artillery,  and  driving  wildly  on,  swept  up  and  regained 
his  camp.  This  being  done,  and  the  last  scattered  Americans  chased 
from  the  tents  or  made  prisoners,  the  British  formed  their  line  and 
prepared  to  renew  the  battle. 

But  Greene,  appalled  by  the  slaughter  that  had  already  taken 
place,  and  satisfied  that  his  enemy  had  received  a  blow  that  would 
force  him  to  retreat,  wisely  declined  renewing  the  strife.  He  had 
attacked  Stewart,  because  the  latter  had  intended  to  establish  a  post 
at  Eutaw,  and  now  that  this  purpose  would  be  abandoned,  there 


440  THE  HEROES  OP  THE  REVOLUTION. 

was  no  longer  any  object  to  be  gained  by  protracting  the  battle,  of 
sufficient  importance  to  compensate  for  the  loss  of  life.  The  wisdom 
of  Greene  was  shown  in  this  decision.  Many  a  General,  excited 
by  the  struggle,  or  smarting  under  the  imputation  of  having  received 
a  check,  would  have  returned  to  the  contest  and  uselessly  sacrificed 
hundreds  of  lives.  But  Greene  never  lost  his  self-possession  on  the 
field  of  battle,  never  allowed  his  judgment  to  be  affected  by  its 
excitement.  He  saw  that  he  had  gained  his  purpose,  and  he 
decided  to  retreat.  He  fell  back,  however,  no  farther  than  to  the 
spot  from  which  he  had  started  in  the  morning.  And  he  would 
probably  not  have  done  this,  but  retained  his  position  on  the  field, 
but  for  the  impossibility  of  its  furnishing  sufficient  water  for  his 
thirsty  and  fainting  men. 

The  loss  of  Greene,  in  this  battle,  was  five  hundred  and  fifty-five, 
rank  and  file,  or  nearly  one-third  of  his  whole  army.  Of  this  num- 
ber one  hundred  and  thirty  had  been  killed  on  the  field,  including 
seventeen  commissioned  officers.  The  British  suffered  not  less 
severely.  It  was  a  sad  task,  on  that  day,  for  the  American  com- 
mander to  visit  his  wounded.  When  he  entered  the  miserable  hovel 
where  the  officers  of  Washington's  mutilated  corps  lay,  and  be- 
held those  gallant  young  men,  some  of  whom  were  destined  never 
to  rise  from  their  beds,  his  feelings  gave  way,  and  he  exclaimed  in 
a  choking  voice,  "  It  was  a  trying  duty  imposed  on  you,  but  it  was 
unavoidable :  I  could  not  help  it !"  Those  brave  men,  however, 
lived  to  hear  that  their  blood  had  not  been  shed  in  vain ;  for,  on  that 
very  night,  Stewart,'  destroying  his  stores  and  abandoning  about 
seventy  of  his  wounded,  hurriedly  retreated  to  Charleston.  For  this 
•victory,  as  it  has  always  been  regarded,  Congress  voted  Greene  a 
conquered  standard  and  a  medal  of  gold. 

During  this  battle  an  incident  occurred,  so  poetical  in  its  character, 
that  but  for  the  most  unimpeachable  testimony  in  favor  of  its  truth, 
we  should  hesitate  to  be  the  first  to  place  it  in  print.  After  the 
repulse  of  the  British,  one  of  Lee's  legion  galloped  to  the  enemy's 
camp,  intending  to  set  it  on  fire,  and  by  a  spectacle  so  disheartening 
to  the  foe,  complete  his  rout.  Alighting  and  snatching  up  a  brand, 
he  drew  aside  the  canvass  of  a  tent,  in  order  to  apply  the  fire  to  the 
straw  within.  But  a  sight  there  met  his  eyes  which  made  him 
draw  back  irresolute.  A  wounded  soldier  lay  on  the  rude  pallet, 
and  by  his  side  sat  a  woman,  wringing  her  hands  and  weeping  bit- 
terly as  she  gazed  down  on  the  face  of  the  dying  man.  She  looked 
up  an  instant  at  the  intruder,  with  a  glance  of  mute  entreaty,  while 


NATHANAEL,    GREENE.  441 

the  tears  rolled  down  her  cheeks.  The  American  hesitated.  If  I 
set  fire  to  the  camp,  he  thought,  this  poor  woman  must  see  her  hus- 
band consume  before  her  eyes :  and  others,  perhaps,  will  perish  as 
miserably.  I  may  reduce  the  enemy  to  as  great  straits  as  ourselves, 
but  will  that  assist  in  terminating  the  war  ?  At  this  consideration 
he  dropped  the  canvass,  flung  down  his  brand,  and  left  the  camp. 
The  hero  of  this  little  incident  still  lives,  almost  the  solitary  survivor 
of  that  bloody  day.  From  his  lips  we  have  heard  that,  after  the  bat- 
tle was  over,  the  British  and  American  soldiers  were  frequently 
found  lying  side  by  side,  transfixed  with  each  others  bayonets. 
Where  the  American  artillery  had  been  posted,  there  now  remain- 
ed only  the  dismembered  cannon.  An  oak  sapling,  about  eight 
inches  in  diameter,  stood  close  by  this  battery ;  and  the  trunk  of  this 
tree  showed,  within  ten  feet  from  the  ground,  twenty-eight  marks  of 
balls. 

In  the  beginning  of  the  year  1782,  the  House  of  Representatives 
of  South  Carolina  bestowed  on  Greene  the  sum  of  ten  thousand  gui- 
neas, "  in  consideration  of  his  important  services."  He  was  now, 
indeed,  universally  regarded  as  the  saviour  of  the  south.  He  had 
broken  up  all  the  enemy's  posts  in  the  interior,  and  confined  him  to 
a  small  circle  in  the  vicinity  of  Charleston.  The  people,  so  lately 
despondent,  were  now  full  of  hope.  The  tories  were  overawed. 
The  royal  troops  themselves  were  giving  way  to  despair.  All  par- 
ties saw  that  the  evacuation  of  the  southern  capital  must  speedily 
occur,  unless  Great  Britain  was  disposed  to  begin  again  the  attempt 
at  conquest,  now  foiled  after  eight  years  of  war.  At  last,  on  the 
14th  of  December,  Charleston  was  evacuated.  Greene  entered  the 
town  amid  the  acclamations  of  the  inhabitants,  Governor  Rutledge 
riding  at  his  side,  and  a  brilliant  cortage  of  officers  and  guards  ac- 
companying him.  Every  door,  balcony  and  window  was  crowded. 
Tears  of Joy  were  shed  freely,  and  the  cry,  "God  bless  you  ! — wel- 
come home,  gentlemen,"  broke  from  many  a  surcharged  heart. 

Greene  did  not  long  survive  the  war.  His  last  days,  too,  were  em- 
bittered by  financial  difficulties,  arising  out  of  some  bills  he  had  be- 
come liable  for,  in  order  to  purchase  stores  at  a  critical  period  in  his 
last  campaign.  But  his  country  was  not  ungrateful.  South  Carolina, 
as  we  have  seen,  had  voted  him  ten  thousand  guineas,  and  Georgia 
presented  him  with  a  handsome  estate.  He  removed  his  family 
from  Rhode  Island  to  Charleston,  in  1785,  intending  there  to  spend 
the  remainder  of  his  days ;  but  these  were  destined  to  be  of  short 
duration.  On  Tuesday,  the  13th  of  June,  1786,  while  on  a  visit  to 

51 


442 


THE  HEROES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 


a  neighbor,  he  walked  out  to  see  a  rice  crop,  the  sun,  at  the  time, 
being  intensely  hot.  A  headache  was  the  consequence,  followed  by 
a  violent  fever  and  inflammation  of  the  brain  :  and  by  Monday,  the 
15th,  he  was  a  corpse.  His  death  was  considered  a  public  misfor- 
tune, and  the  inhabitants  of  Savannah,  where  he  was  interred,  joined 
unanimously  in  paying  the  last  tribute  to  his  remains.  Thus,  at  the 
age  of  forty-four,  perished  the  second  General  of  the  Revolution  ! 


OTHO    H.    WILLIAMS. 


__,-— 


ONSPICUOUS  among 
the  heroes  of  the  Revo- 
lution was  Otho  Hol- 
land Williams,  a  Briga- 
dier-General in  the 
continental  line.  He 
was  born  in  Prince 
George  county,  Md.,  in 
the  year  1748.  His 
abilities  were  of  a  high 
order.  He  was  saga- 
Sffl^  .^*  j  cious  in  counsel,  syste- 
_~i§^  matic  in  camp  and  in 
battle  brave  as  a  lion, 
yet  perfectly  self-pos- 
sessed. Few  men  were  purer  in  their  patriotism.  He  served  his  coun- 
try, not  for  emolument  or  rank,  but  from  a  consciousness  of  duty 
alone.  In  morals  he  was  rigid,  like  his  great  chief,  evincing  his  dis- 
like of  wrong  even  with  asperity.  He  scorned  hypocrisy  and  the  low 
arts  of  intrigue,  nor  would  he  ever  depreciate  others  in  order  to  ex- 
alt himself. 

Williams  was  at  the  head  of  the  clerk's  office  of  the  county  of 

443 


•444  THE  HEROES    OF    THE    REVOLUTION. 

Baltimore,  when  the  war  of  independence  began,  but  he  immediate- 
ly abandoned  his  emoluments,  and  accepting  a  Lieutenant's  commis- 
sion in  a  rifle  corps,  marched  to  join  the  army  at  Boston.  In  1776 
a  rifle  regiment  was  formed,  of  which  he  was  appointed  Major.  He 
was  present  in  Fort  Washington  when  the  assault  of  that  place  oc- 
curred ;  and  it  was  his  regiment  which  so  gallantly  met  the  Hessian 
column,  and  had  nearly  repulsed  it.  But  Fort  Washington  fell,  and 
Williams  became  a  prisoner.  He  was  now  subjected  to  all  those 
horrors  which  the  captives,  at  that  early  period  suffered,  and  which 
have  made  the  name  of  Sir  William  Howe  execrable  wherever  hu- 
manity has  advocates.  The  seeds  of  the  fatal  disease,  which  subse- 
quently carried  off  Williams,  were  sown  during  this  imprisonment. 
At  last,  after  the  surrender  of  Burgoyne,  he  was  exchanged  for  Ma- 
jor Ackland ;  and,  rejoining  the  army,  found  he  had  risen  in  due 
course  of  promotion  to  the  rank  of  a  Colonel. 

Williams  accompanied  De  Kalb  to  the  Carolinas.  When  Gates 
succeeded  to  thecommand,  he  bestowed  on  Colonel  Williams  the  post 
of  Adjutant  General,  an  honor  which  was  continued  to  him,  with 
the  most  flattering  acknowledgements,  by  Greene.  He  was  in  the 
battles  of  Camden,  Guilford,  Hobkirk  and  Eutaw.  During  Greene's 
famous  retreat  across  North  Carolina,  Williams  commanded  the  light 
troops  which  covered  his  rear.  What  Ney  was  to  Napoleon  in  retir- 
ing from  Russia,  that  Williams  was  to  Greene  in  this  emergen- 
cy! Never  was  a  General-in-chief  better  seconded  by  any  merely 
executive  officer.  When  Greene  re-crossed  the  Dan,  Williams  was 
conspicuous  in  the  manosuvres  that  ensued.  Cornwallis  had 
resolved  to  force  the  American  commander  either  to  fight  at  a 
disadvantage  or  retreat ;  but,  the  latter,  determining  to  do  neither,* 
changed  his  camp  daily,  now  advancing  and  now  falling  back,  until 
the  English  General,  lost  in  a  maze  of  perplexity,  knew  not  where 
to  find  him.  Subsequently  at  the  battle  of  Guilford,  and  afterwards 
at  Eutaw,  Williams  highly  distinguished  himself.  In  the  latter  con- 
test he  headed  the  charge  which  was  so  decisive. 

On  the  return  of  peace,  Williams,  who  had  been  raised,  meantime, 
to  the  rank  of  a  Brigadier,  retired  to  his  native  state,  where  the  col- 
lectorship  of  the  port  of  Baltimore,  the  most  lucrative  office  in  Mary- 
land, was  bestowed  on  him  by  the  authorities  as  a  token  of  the  ap- 
preciation of  his  services.  Washington,  on  acceding  to  the  Presi- 
dency, continued  Williams  in  this  post.  In  1794  Williams  died  of 
pulmonary  consumption.  His  wife,  whom  he  had  married  just  be- 
fore, soon  followed  him  to  the  grave,  her  days  being  shortened,  it  is 
said,  by  grief  for  her  loss. 


FRANCIS     MARION. 


HERE  are  fewAme- 
rican  readers,  to 
whom  the  name  of 
Marion  is  not  a  spell. 
It  conjures  up  images 
of  the  forest  camp, 
the  moonlight  march, 
the  sudden  attack, 
and  all  the  romance 
of  that  daring  war- 
fare which  fascinated 
us  when  a  boy  !  In 
the  popular  fancy 
Marion  holds  the 
place  of  a  great 
champion,  not  unlike 
King  Arthur,  in  English  legendary  story.  Yet  there  was  nothing 
chivalric,  in  the  ordinary  sense  of  that  term,  about  the  south- 

NN  445 


446  THE  HEROES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 

ern  hero.  His  personal  prowess  was  inconsiderable.  He  never 
slew  a  man  in  single  combat.  He  was  small  in  stature,  hard 
in  manners,  cautious,  scheming  and  taciturn.  No  act  of  knightly 
emprize  is  recorded  of  him.  But  his  achievements  were  so  brilliant 
— they  were  performed  with  such  apparently  inadequate  means — 
they  followed  each  other  in  such  rapid  succession — arid  they  were 
begun  in  so  disastrous  a  period,  and  exercised  so  astonishing  an  in- 
fluence in  arousing  the  south,  that  we  gaze  on  his  career  as  on  that 
of  some  Paladin  of  old,  suddenly  raised  up  by  enchantment,  to  dis- 
comfit all  comers  with  his  single  arm.  .  v 

Marion  was  of  Huguenot  descent.  He  was  born  in  1732,  near 
Georgetown,  in  South  Carolina.  His  youth  was  spent  chietiy  on  a 
farm,  except  during  one  short  interval,  when  he  went  to  sea.  On 
this  occasion  he  came  near  losing  his  life  by  drowning.  When  he 
returned,  at  his  mother's  anxious  solicitation,  he  took  up  the  pursuit 
of  agriculture.  The  restless  spirit  of  his  boyhood  appeared  to  have 
been  now  totally  subdued.  Ambition  seemed  no  longer  a  part  of 
his  nature.  He  followed  the  quiet  life  of  men  of  his  class,  and  was 
respected,  beloved  and  honored.  No  one  fancied  that  the  name  of 
Francis  Marion  would  ever  become  great  in  history. 

The  Indian  war  of  1760  found  him  in  this  condition.  The  Chero- 
kees,  on  the  western  frontier  of  the  Carolinas,  had  long  been  trouble- 
some neighbors.  They  inhabited  a  luxuriant  district,  partly  in  the 
lower  country  and  partly  in  the  hilly  region  to  the  west.  Their 
villages  were  well  built,  their  corn-fields  in  high  cultivation.  They 
were  a  bold  and  turbulent  nation,  always  doubtful  allies,  ever  ready 
to  lift  the  tomahawk  at  the  slightest  provocation.  On  the  present 
occasion  they  had  taken  up  arms  at  the  instigation  of  the  French. 
As  the  only  means  of  ensuring  tranquillity  in  future,  it  was  deter- 
mined to  break  the  heart  of  this  proud  people  by  penetrating  to  their 
most  impregnable  fastnesses,  and  laying  the  whole  district  waste 
with  fire  and  sword.  A  strong  force  from  the  Canadas  was  de- 
spatched for  this  purpose  to  South  Carolina.  Marion  joined  the 
army  as  a  Lieutenant,  and  now  first  distinguished  himself.  After  all 
the  lower  country  had  been  devastated,  the  troops  advanced  to  the 
higher  grounds.  But  at  the  famous  pass  of  Etchoee,  a  narrow  val- 
ley between  high  hills,  the  bravest  of  the  Cherokees  had  made  a 
stand,  resolved,  with  a  spirit  worthy  of  old  Rome,  to  shed  the  last 
drop  of  their  blood  on  this  threshold  of  their  nation.  They  occupied 
a  strong  position  on  the  flank  of  the  invading  army.  Before  any 
progress  could  be  made  it  became  necessary  to  dislodge  them,  and  a 
large  corps  was  sent  in  advance  for  this  purpose,  preceded  by  a  for  • 


FRANCIS    MARION.  447 

lorn  hope  of  thirty  men.     The  command  of  this  latter  party  was 
given  to  Marion.     Their  ascent  was  through  a  gloomy  defile,  flanked 
by  impenetrable  thickets,  the  very  lurking  places  for  a  savage  foe. 
Yet  that  gallant  band  went  steadily  forward,  their  leader  marching 
in  the  van  !     As  the  head  of  the  column  entered  the  defile,  a  savage 
yell  was  heard,  as  if  from  every  bush  around,  and  immediately  a 
hundred  muskets  blazed  on  the  assailants.     Twenty-one  of  the  for- 
lorn hope  fell.     But  their  leader  was  unhurt.     Waving  his  sword, 
he  called  on  the  few  that  remained  to  follow  him,  and  dashed  up  the 
ascent :  he  was  soon  reinforced  by  the  advanced  corps,  which,  stim- 
ulated by  such  heroism,  followed  close  behind.     The  contest  that 
ensued  is  to  this  hour  spoken  of  with  awe  by  the  miserable  remnant 
of  that  people.     Never,  perhaps,  in  the  annals  of  Indian  war  was 
the  carnage  greater.     For  four  hours  the  fight  raged  without  inter- 
mission.    The  savages  fought  like  men  who  cared  not  to  survive  a 
defeat.     Driven  by  the  bayonet  again  and  again  from  their  positions, 
they  returned,  like  wounded  lions,  fiercer  with  agony  and  despair. 
But.  their  heroism  was  of  no  avail.     Discipline  at  length  triumphed 
over  untaught  bravery.     The  Cherokees  fled.     Nor  did  they  ever 
after  rally.     And  for  thirty  days,  the  fire-brand  and  the  bayonet 
went  through  their  beautiful  vallies,  making  once  happy  villages 
heaps  of  ruins,  and  reducing  the  whole  district  to  a  blackened  and 
smoking  desert.    This  work  of  devastation  smote  the  heart  of  Marion 
with  pity.     In  a  letter  attributed  to  him,  his  feelings  are  described 
with  picturesque  force.     "  I  saw  everywhere  around,"  he  writes, 
"  the  footsteps  of  the  little  Indian  children,  where  they  had  lately 
played  under  the  shelter  of  the  rustling  corn.     When  we  are  gone, 
thought  I,  they  will  return,  and  peeping  through  the  woods  ivith 
tearful  eyes,  will  mark  the  ghastly  ruin  poured  over  their  homes, 
and  the  happy  fields  where  they  had  so  often  played.     '  Who  did 
this  ? '  they  will  ask  their  mothers.   '  The  white  people,  the  Christians 
did  it !'  will  be  their  reply."    Whether  Marion  wrote  this  letter,  or, 
which  is  more  probable,  Weems  invented  it,  the  sentiments  are 
characteristic  of  that  tenderness  of  heart,  which,  notwithstanding 
Marion's  firmness  and  decision,  was  one  of  his  most  prominent 
qualities. 

For  fourteen  years  after  this  campaign  Marion  was  occupied  on 
his  farm.  But  he  had  acquired  a  reputation  for  skill  and  spirit 
during  the  Indian  troubles,  which  was  not  forgotten,  and  subse- 
quently, when  the  storm  of  war  began  to  darken  the  horizon,  men 
turned  to  Marion  with  anxiety,  as  mariners  to  the  veteran  pilot.  In 
1775,  he  was  a  member  in  the  Provincial  Congress  of  South  Caro- 


448  THE    HEROES    OF    THE    REVOLUTION. 

lina,  and  was  among  the  most  active  in  procuring  the  vote  commit- 
ting that  colony  to  the  Revolution.  It  was  during  a  partial  adjourn- 
ment of  this  body  that  the  news  of  the  battle  of  Lexington  reached 
Charleston  by  express.  Instantly  the  chivalric  Carolinians  took  fire. 
The  Congress  was  called  together.  Public  spirit  ran  high.  Two  regi- 
ments of  infantry  and  one  of  cavalry  were  raised;  a  million  of 
money  was  voted ;  and  an  act  of  association  was  passed,  by  which  all 
persons  were  declared  enemies  of  the  state  who  should  refuse  to  join 
in  resisting  by  force  of  arms  the  aggressions  of  the  King. 

In  one  of  the  new  regiments  Marion  received  a  Major's  commis- 
sion. His  Colonel  was  the  celebrated  Moultrie.  He  proved  him- 
self an  excellent  disciplinarian,  and  the  superiority  of  the  regiment 
was,  on  all  hands,  attributed  to  his  skill.  During  the  attack  on  Sul- 
livan's Island,  he  was  actively  occupied  in  the  fort,  except  when, 
with  a  small  detachment,  he  boarded  the  armed  schooner  Defence, 
to  obtain  powder.  For  his  services  on  this  occasion,  he  was  raised 
by  Congress  to  the  rank  of  Lieutenant-Colonel  in  the  regular  army. 
For  the  next  three  years,  the  war  languished  in  the  south ;  but  in 
1779,  when  the  British  invaded  Georgia,  Marion  re-appears  upon 
the  scene.  He  was  only  prevented  from  being  captured  in  Charles- 
ton on  the  fall  of  that  place,  by  having  broken  an  ankle  :  a  misfor- 
tune which  compelled  him  to  leave  the  city  when,  just  before  the 
siege,  all  sick  persons  and  officers  unfit  for  duty  were  ordered  to  de- 
part. The  manner  in  which  this  accident  occurred  is  characteristic. 
Marion  was  dining  with  some  friends,  when  the  drinking  became 
deep,  and  the  host,  to  prevent  the  escape  of  any  one,  locked  the 
door:  on  which  Marion,  who  was  habitually  temperate,  leaped 
from  the  window  and  fractured  his  ankle . 

Charleston  fell.  Four  thousand  men — all  the  available  force  at 
the  south — came  into  the  hands  of  the  enemy  ;  and  organized  resist- 
ance in  South  Carolina  was  at  an  end.  Then  the  seven  vials  of 
wrath  were  opened  on  that  devoted  colony.  Deceit  was  added  to 
cruelty ;  and  the  miserable  inhabitants,  seduced  by  fair  promises 
into  swearing  allegiance,  soon  learned  that  there  is  no  refuge  for  the 
conquered,  but  in  unmitigated  and  hopeless  slavery.  They  had  at 
first  been  asked  only  to  remain  quiet.  They  were  now  told  that 
neutrality  was  impossible,  and  that  they  must  either  take  up  arms 
for  the  King  or  be  punished  as  rebels.  In  vain  they  remonstrated, 
in  vain  they  entreated  :  their  masters  were  inexorable.  One  or  two 
districts  at  length  ventured  to  resist.  It  had  been  better  for  their 
inhabitants  if  they  had  never  been  born.  Old  men  and  immature 
boys  were  hung  up  without  trial,  and  females  of  tender  nurture 


FRANCIS    MARION.  449 

brutally  thrust  from  the  doors  which  had  been  kept  sacred  to  them 
since  they  were  brides.  The  land  was  ravaged  as  no  other  had 
been  since  the  Conqueror  desolated  the  New  Forest.  One  region, 
seventy  miles  long  and  fifteen  broad,  through  which  the  British  army 
passed,  became  a  desert.  A  wife  who  asked  to  see  her  husband  in 
prison  was  told  to  wait,  and  her  request  should  soon  be  granted ; 
they  left  her,  and  returning  with  a  brutal  jest,  pointed  to  their  victim, 
suspended  from  the  jail  window,  and  yet  quivering  in  the  agonies 
of  death.  But  God  at  last  raised  up  an  avenger  !  Suddenly,  in  the 
very  heart  of  the  oppressed  districts,  there  arose  an  enemy ;  bitter, 
sleepless,  unforgetful ;  seemingly  possessed  of  miraculous  powers 
of  intelligence  ;  whose  motions  were  quick  as  lightning ;  who  dealt 
blows  successively  at  points  where  no  human  foresight  could  have 
foreseen  them  ;  and  who,  by  a  series  of  rapid  and  brilliant  successes, 
made  the  British  power  tremble  from  centre  to  circumference.  The 
secret  of  this  was  soon  noised  abroad.  Marion  had  recovered,  had 
raised  a  troop,  had  began  the  war  again  on  his  own  account.  His 
name  became  a  terror  to  the  foe,  and  a  rallying  word  for  the  patri- 
ots. Wherever  a  surprise  took  place — wherever  a  convoy  was  cut 
off — wherever  a  gallant  deed  was  done,  men  said  that  Marion  had 
been  there.  And  the  aged  widow,  who  had  seen  her  bravest  sons 
dragged  to  the  shambles,  gave  thanks  nightly  to  God  that  a  defend- 
er had  arisen  for  Israel. 

We  can  at  this  day  have  but  a  faint  idea  of  the  re-action  that  fol- 
lowed the  successes  of  Marion.  It  was  like  the  first  feeling  of  hope 
after  a  shipwreck,  in  which  every  plank  has  gone  down  beneath  us. 
It  was  like  the  cheering  word  of  pardon  to  the  criminal  on  the  scaf- 
fold. Instantly,  the  colony  rose  from  its  sackcloth  and  ashes.  It  put 
off  its  garments  of  humiliation ;  it  assumed  the  sword  ;  it  went  forth 
to  battle  rejoicingly.  In  every  direction  around  the  British  posts,  men 
suddenly  appeared  in  arms.  They  had  no  weapons;  but  the  huge  saws 
of  the  timber-mills  were  fabricated  into  sabres.  They  had  no  camp 
equipage ;  but  Marion  slept  on  a  forest  couch,  and  so  could  they.  They 
flocked  to  him  in  crowds.  Mounted  on  fleet  horses,  they  traversed  the 
country  under  him,  often  marching  sixty  miles  between  sundown  and 
daybreak,  striking  blows  now  here,  now  there,  until  the  perplexed  ene- 
my scarcely  knew  which  way  to  turn,  and  began  to  regard,  with  name- 
less fear,  this  mysterious  foe,  who,  if  folio  wed,  could  never  be  caught, 
but  who  was  always  at  hand,  with  his  terrible  shout  and  charge, 
when  least  expected. 

The  favorite  rendezvous  of  Marion  was  at  Snow  Island.  This  is 
a  piece  of  high  river  swamp,  as  it  is  called  in  the  Carolinas,  and  was 

57  NN* 


450  THE  HEROES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 

surrounded  on  three  sides  by  water,  so  as  to  be  almost  impregnable 
He  rendered  it  more  so  by  destroying  the  bridges,  securing  the  boats, 
and  placing  defences  where  they  were  required.  The  island,  thus 
cut  off  from  the  mainland,  was  of  some  extent,  and  abounded  with 
game.  No  one  unacquainted  with  its  labyrinths  could  have  well 
found  his  way  among  its  tortuous  paths,  overgrown  with  a  luxuri- 
ant tropical  vegetation  and  tangled  with  vines.  Here  Marion  had 
his  camp.  From  this  fastness  he  issued  forth  at  pleasure  to  ravage 
the  enemy's  granaries  or  capture  a  straggling  party  of  his  troops. 
Secure  in  his  retreat  he  had  no  fear  of  pursuit.  The  imagination 
kindles  at  the  picture  of  that  greenwood  camp,  and  we  are  carried 
back  to  the  days  of  old  romance,  when  Robin  Hood  held  court  in  Sher- 
wood Forest.  There,  with  the  laurel  blooming  over  them,  his  bold 
followers  slept  as  sweetly  as  under  canopies  of  silk  ;  there,  with  the 
free,  blue  sky  for  their  tent,  they  felt  that  liberty  was  theirs,  in 
defiance  of  the  British  arms ;  there,  while  the  stars  kept  watch 
above,  they  dreamed  of  peace,  and  happiness,  and  plenty,  yet  to  come, 
of  pleasant  homes  and  smiling  wives,  and  of  children  prattling  at 
their  knee  ! 

For  carrying  on  a  partizan  warfare,  such  as  now  ensued,  Marion 
was  peculiarly  fitted.  Governor  Rutledge  had  given  him  a  commis- 
sion as  Brigadier-General  in  the  militia ;  and  no  man  understood  bet- 
ter how  to  manage  a  volunteer  force.  His  maxim  was  "  feed  high 
and  then  attack."  When  in  the  open  field  he  never  required  his 
men  to  wait  for  a  bayonet  charge ;  but  after  they  had  deliv- 
ered their  fire,  he  ordered  them  to  fall  back  under  cover.  By 
these  means  he  kept  them  self-collected  and  confident ;  and  in 
consequence  we  know  of  but  one  instance  of  their  having  become 
panic-struck.  The  celerity  of  his  movements  supplied  the  place  of 
numbers.  His  genius  defied  the  want  of  arms,  ammunition,  and  all 
the  material  of  war.  He  was  wary,  scheming,  clear-sighted,  bold, 
rapid,  energetic.  No  man  but  one  possessing  such  a  rare  union  of 
qualities  could  have  made  head  against  the  British  power  after  the 
defeat  of  Gates.  At  times,  indeed,  he  suffered  "from  despondency. 
Once  he  talked,  despairingly,  of  retiring  to  the  mountains.  But  no 
mind  can  be  always  on  the  rack,  without  giving  way  occasionally 
to  the  strain.  To  be  melancholy  at  times,  is  the  destiny  of  lofty  na- 
tures, and  few  have  achieved  greatness  without  feeling  often  as  if 
life  were  a  burden  gladly  to  be  laid  down. 

The  war  was  conducted  with  savage  ferocity.  The  tories  hung 
their  prisoners,  the  whigs  retaliated  on  the  tories.  The  British  burn- 
ed the  dwellings  of  the  patriots,  pillaged  their  barns,  ravaged  their 


FRANCIS    MARION.  451 

fields,  and  set  free  their  negroes.  The  Americans  shot  down  senti- 
nels at  their  posts,  cut  off  picquets,  and  laid  ambuscades  for  officers. 
Neither  party  for  a  while  paid  much  respect  to  flags.  Private  re- 
venge entered  deeply  into  the  contest.  At  the  taking  of  Georgetown 
Lieutenant  Conyer  sought  out  and  murdered  an  English  officer,  from 
whom  he  had  once  suffered  an  indignity.  A  serjeant,  whose  private 
baggage  had  been  captured,  sent  word  to  the  British  leader  that,  if 
it  was  not  returned,  he  would  kill  eight  of  his  men ;  and  the  plunder 
was  given  up,  for  it  was  known  he  would  keep  his  word.  The  same 
man  shot  at  an  English  officer  at  a  distance  of  three  hundred  yards. 
Yet  there  were  occasional  glimpses  of  chivalry  shown  on  both  sides. 
When  Colonel  Watson  garrisoned  Blakely's  mansion,  it  was  the  resi- 
dence of  a  young  lady  whose  lover  belonged  to  the  American  force, 
which  at  that  time,  partially  beleaguered  the  Englishmen  ;  and  every 
day  the  fiery  youth,  like  a  knight  of  old,  either  singly  or  at  the  head 
of  his  troop,  rode  up  to  the  hostile  lines,  and  in  sight  of  his  mistress, 
defied  the  foe  to  mortal  combat.  Among  the  British  officers,  Major 
Macintosh  became  distinguished  as  the  most  humane.  But  the  gene- 
ral character  of  the  contest  was  such,  that  those  who  had  been  ac- 
customed to  the  comparative  courtesy  of  European  strife,  declared 
that  the  Americans  fought  like  devils  rather  than  like  men.  Greene 
himself  wrote  back  to  the  north,  that  the  war  was  one  of  butchery. 
But  we  doubt  whether  it  could  have  been  waged  successfully  in  any 
other  way.  When  a  foreign  invader  has  given  your  roof-tree  to  the 
flames,  and  driven  you  forth  to  herd  with  wild  beasts,  it  is  an  instinct 
of  human  nature  to  slay  him  wherever  he  appears,  to  assail  him 
in  darkness,  to "  war  even  to  the  knife."  The  want  of  num- 
bers must  be  supplied  by  incessant  watchfulness.  It  may  do  for 
kings  playing  at  the  game  of  war  to  talk  of  conducting  it  politely, 
but  men  fighting  with  a  rope  around  their  necks  are  not  apt  to  be 
over  nice. 

It  would  be  impossible,  in  a  sketch  like  this,  to  follow  Marion 
through  all  his  enterprises.  He  planned,  with  Lee,  the  surprise  of 
Georgetown,  which  an  accident  only  prevented  being  completely 
successful ;  he  defeated  the  lories  at  Black  Mingo  and  at  Tarcote  ; 
he  captured  Forts  Watson  and  Motte  ;  he  made  a  second  and  victo- 
rious attack  on  Georgetown ;  he  nearly  annihilated  General  Frazier's 
cavalry  at  Parker's  Ferry ;  he  scattered  the  English  horse  at  St. 
Thomas  ;  and,  to  the  very  close  of  the  war,  continued  striking  that 
series  of  sudden  and  decisive  blows  which  made  his  name  a  terror  to 
the  foe,  and  which,  in  subsequent  times,  renders  his  career  so  bril- 
liant and  fascinating.  We  can  pause  on  one  only  of  his  numerous 


452  THE  HEROES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 

achievements.  This  was  the  deadly  ambush  at  Parker's  Ferry.  It 
was  just  before  the  struggle  at  Eutaw  that  it  occurred.  Greene 
and  the  British  General  were  silently  watching  each  other,  when 
Marion  suddenly  set  forth  from  the  American  camp,  with  two  hun- 
dred picked  men,  on  one  of  his  many  secret  expeditions,  Not  even 
his  officers  knew  the  purpose  of  his  march.  His  object,  however, 
was  to  relieve  Colonel  Harden, at  that  time  hard  pressed  by  a  British 
force  of  five  hundred  men.  After  traversing  the  country  for  a  hun- 
dred miles,  Marion  came  up  with  the  Colonel.  The  enemy  was 
close  at  hand,  thundering  in  pursuit.  The  Americans,  thus  reinforced, 
were  hastily  concealed  in  a  swamp,  and  a  small  party  sent  out  to  lure 
the  English  into  the  ambuscade.  The  stratagem  succeeded.  Imagining 
he  had  no  one  to  contend  with  but  Colonel  Harden,  the  British  leader 
led  his  cavalry  at  full  charge  almost  up  to  the  muzzles  of  the'conceal- 
ed  riflemen.  But  when  the  deadly  fire  of  the  American  sharp-shoot- 
ers opened  on  him,  the  enemy  recoiled  in  horror  and  dismay  from 
that  incessant  torrent  of  missiles.  Yet  soon,  with  unfaltering  bravery 
he  rallied,  and  dashed  again  to  the  charge.  A  second  time  he  was 
hurled  back.  And  now  began  a  fearful  carnage.  Hemmed  in  on 
the  narrow  causeway,  unable  either  to  advance  or  retreat,  that  gal- 
lant cavalry  was  fast  melting  away  beneath  Marion's  fire,  when  the 
ammunition  of  the  Americans  gave  out  and  they  were  forced  to  yield 
their  ground.  But  so  horrible  had  been  the  slaughter,  that,  at  the 
battle  of  Eutaw,  the  enemy  had  scarcely  a  single  troop  of  horse  left 
to  bring  into  the  field. 

Marion  continued  with  his  brigade  until  after  the  evacuation  of 
Charleston,  when  he  retired  to  his  farm,  which  he  found  a  scene  of 
ruins.  He  now  resolved  to  apply  himself  seriously  to  agriculture,  in 
hopes  to  repair  his  shattered  fortunes.  But  his  native  state  claiming 
his  services,  he  was  first  a  Senator  to  the  Legislature, and  afterwards 
military  commandant  at  Fort  Johnson  in  the  harbor  of  Charleston. 
In  his  senatorial  capacity  he  opposed  the  continuance  of  the  Confis- 
cation Act,  wishing,  now  that  peace  had  been  gained,  to  forget  and 
forgive  all  political  delinquencies.  He  married  a  lady  of  wealth,  but 
had  no  issue.  He  died  on  the  20th  of  February,  1795,  in  the  sixty- 
third  year  of  his  age. 


SCMPTEIt'S    ASSAULT   ON   THE    BRITISH    AT   ROCKY    MOUNT. 


THOMAS     SUMPTER. 


UMPTER  and  Marion  are  names 
indissolubly  connected  in  the  memo- 
ry  with  all  that  was  gallant  and  suc- 
cessful in  the  partizan  warfare  of 
the  south.  Both  were  leaders  in  the 
militia,  both  obtained  signal  victo- 
ries, and  both  were  possessed  of  a 
superior  genius  for  war.  Yet,  per- 
haps, no  .two  men  ever  differed 
more  in  character.  Marion  was 
cautious,  scheming,  careful  of  his  troops;  Sumpter  bold,  rash,  and 
often  prodigal  of  his  men.  The  one  could  never  be  induced  to  fight 
unless  nearly  certain  of  success :  the  other  was  always  ready  for  the 
contest,  even  when  wisdom  counselled  a  retreat.  In  the  one  pru- 
dence amounted  almost  to  a  foible ;  in  the  other  daring  sometimes 
degenerated  to  folly.  The  difference  between  the  two  men  is  well 
described  in  the  remark  which  Tarleton  is  said  to  have  made 
respecting  them,  at  the  end  of  an  unsuccessful  pursuit  of  Marion : 

453 


454  THE  HEROES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 

"  let  us  leave  this  d — d  swamp-fox,"  said  the  irritated  Colonel,  "  and 
seek  Sumpter ;  he  is  a  game  cock  always  ready  for  a  fight." 

Sampler  was  bom  in  Virginia,  in  the  year  1734.  While  still  a 
youth,  his  activity  and  intelligence  in  scouting  recommended  him  to 
the  notice  of  Lord  Dunmore,  who  is  said  to  have  employed  him  on 
the  frontier  in  a  trust  of  equal  hazard  and  importance.  He  was  pre- 
sent at  the  battle  of  Monongahela,  where  he  was  so  fortunate  as  to 
escape  without  a  wound.  At  the  close  of  the  war  he  removed  to 
South  Carolina.  He  speedily  acquired  a  commanding  influence  in 
the  district  where  he  settled;  and  in  consequence,  in  March,  1776, 
was  recommended  to  the  Provisional  Congress  for  the  post  of  Lieu- 
tenant-Colonel of  the  second  regiment  of  riflemen.  In  this  com- 
mand he  continued  for  some  years,  but  without  any  opportu- 
nity of  distinguishing  himself.  The  war  in  fact  languished  at  the 
south,  and  his  regiment  was  confined  to  overawing  the  tories.  At 
last,  in  1 780,  Charleston  fell.  The  patriots  generally  fled  in  dismay. 
Not  so  Sumpter.  He  had  seen  his  wife  driven  from  her  dwelling, 
and  the  torch  applied  to  the  habitation,  while  the  enemy,  like  sav- 
age bloodhounds,  hunted  around  the  swarrip  whither  he  had  fled  for 
concealment.  Hidden  in  that  covert  he  had  sworn  to  avenge  his 
own  and  his  country's  wrongs.  Nobly  did  he  keep  his  vow  ! 

Aware  that  little  could  be  done  as  yet  in  his  adopted  state,  he  pass- 
ed into  North  Carolina",  and  visiting  the  patriot  settlements,  urged 
a  rising  against  the  British.  At  first  those  whom  he  addressed, 
appalled  by  the  conquest  of  Charleston,  hesitated.  But  his  eloquence, 
his  lofty  enthusiasm,  and  his  bold  decision  of  character  finally 
prevailed,  and  it  was  not  long  before  he  found  himself  at  the  head  of 
a  considerable  force.  An  anecdote  is  preserved  of  the  manner  in 
which  he  obtained  his  famous  soubriquet ;  and  as  it  also  illustrates 
his  tact  in  enlisting  recruits,  we  insert  it  as  characteristic.  There 
was  a  family  of  Gillespies,  all  large  and  active  men,  all  celebrated 
for  their  love  of  cock-fighting.  They  had  in  their  possession,  among 
other  game  birds,  a  blue  hen,  renowned  for  her  virtues.  These  men 
were  engaged  at  their  usual  sport  when  Sumpter  called  upon  them. 
"  Shame  on  you,"  he  said, "  to  be  wasting  your  time  in  such  pursuits 
at  a  crisis  like  this  ;  go  with  me  and  I  will  teach  you  to  fight  with 
men."  They  looked  up  in  amazement.  But  his  fine  soldierly 
aspect  and  his  kindling  eye,  warmed  up  their  patriotism  as  they 
gazed.  They  sprang  to  their  feet  and  grasped  his  hand.  "  You  are 
a  Blue  Hen's  chicken,"  they  said ;  and  enlisted  almost  to  a  man. 
He  soon  found  himself  at  the  head  of  a  larger  force  than  he  could 
arm.  In  this  emergency  the  saws  of  the  mills  were  fabricated  into 


THOMAS    ST7MPTER.  455 

sabres,  lances  were  made  by  fastening  knives  at  the  end  of  a  pole  ; 
and  pewter  dishes  were  melted  into  bullets. 

His  first  enterprise  was  directed  against  a  party  of  tories  who  had 
collected  at  Williams'  plantation,  in  the  upper  part  of  South  Carolina. 
The  enemy  was  surprised,  and  in  a  few  minutes  utterly  defeated. 
Colonel  Ferguson,  the  commander  of  the  party,  and  Captain  Huck,  a 
tory  leader,  notorious  for  his  brutality,  were  among  the  slain;  indeed, 
not  twenty  of  the  whole  number  of  the  foe  escaped  alive.  This  bril- 
liant stroke  was  the  more  exhilarating  to  the  Americans  because 
wholly  unexpected  ;  and  being  accompanied  almost  simultaneously, 
by  the  successes  of  Marion  in  another  quarter  of  the  state,  cheered 
the  patriots  with  a  prospect  of  eventual  redemption  from  the  yoke  of 
the  conquerer.  Recruits  flocked  to  both  commanders.  Governor 
Rutledge  promptly  sent  Sumpter  a  commission  as  Brigadier  in  the 
militia,  a  rank  which  he  also  conferred  on  Marion, dividing  the  state 
between  the  two  leaders.  Sumpter  was  now  at  the  head  of  six  hun- 
dred men.  He  left  the  enemy  scarcely  time  to  recover  from  his  first 
blow  before  he  dealt  a  second.  On  the  30th  of  July  he  attacked  the 
British  fort  at  Rocky  Mount,  but,  though  he  thrice  assaulted  the 
works,  they  proved  too  strong  to  be  reduced  without  artillery,  and 
he  was  compelled  finally  to  draw  oif  his  men,  with  a  heavy  loss. 
The  action,  however,  had  assisted  to  discipline  his  troops,  to  give 
them  confidence  in  their  leader,  and  to  whet  their  appetite  for  new 
enterprises.  Without  losing  a  moment,  Sumpter  now  turned  on 
Hanging  Rock.  This  post  was  defended  by  five  hundred  men.  The 
attack  was  so  impetuous  that  the  first  line  of  the  British  instantly  gave 
way  and  fell  back  on  the  second,  composed  of  one  hundred  and  sixty  of 
Tarleton's  infantry.  This  also  retired  in  confusion,  after  a  desper- 
ate struggle.  Nothing  now  remained  but  the  centre  of  the  foe,  which, 
however,  was  so  well  posted  that  it  could  not  be  routed  ;  and  in  the  end, 
Sumpter  abandoned  the  enterprise,  though  so  terribly  had  the  British 
suffered  that  they  did  not  dare  to  pursue  him. 

Hitherto  he  had  been  either  decidedly  victorious,  or  had  engaged 
the  enemy  with  such  comparative  success,  that  his  enterprises  had 
possessed  all  the  moral  force  of  triumphs.  But  a  reverse  was  at  hand. 
On  the  16th  of  August  he  captured  a  British  train  of  wagons  at 
Carey's  Fort,  and  was  retiring  negligently  with  his  plunder,  when 
Tarleton,  two  days  after,  overtook  him  at  Fishing  Creek,  and  com- 
pletely routed  him.  Undismayed,  however,  Sumpter  hurried  to 
North  Carolina,  recruited  his  shattered  forces,  and  was  speedily  in 
the  field  again,  as  active,  daring,  and  dreaded  as  ever.  Taking  up 
a  position  at  Fishdam  Ford,  he  was  assaulted  here  on  the  5th  of  No- 


456  THE  HEROES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 

vember,  by  Colonel  Wemyss,  at  the  head  of  the  sixty-third  regiment 
and  corps  of  dragoons.  A  total  defeat  of  the  British  was  the  con- 
sequence. This  success  was  the  more  inspiring  to  the  patriot  because 
it  was  the  first  important  one  since  the  defeat  of  Gates  at  Camden. 
Mortified  at  the  check,  Cornwallis  now  despatched  Tarleton  a 
second  time  against  Sumpter,  who  meantime  had  moved  from  his 
former  position.  The  Americans  retreated  over  the  Tiger  river, 
where  they  took  up  a  strong  position,  intending  to  hold  it  during  the 
day,  and  retreat  as  soon  as  night  should  throw  its  protecting  mantle 
around.  But  the  impetuosity  of  Tarleton  having  led  that  officer, 
with  a  portion  of  his  force,  to  advance  some  distance  before  the 
main  body,  Sumpter  seized  the  advantage  thus  afforded,  and  issuing 
boldly  from  his  position,  in  a  few  minutes  put  his  antagonist  to 
flight.  One  hundred  and  ninety-two  of  the  British  were  left  on  the 
field.  The  Americans  suffered  comparatively  little.  Sumpter,  how- 
ever, was  severely  wounded.  Suspended  in  an  ox-hide  between  two 
horses,  he  was  now  conveyed  to  North  Carolina,  where  he  lay,  for 
a  long  time,  incapacitated  for  service.  The  best  testimony,  perhaps, 
to  his  merits,  was  that  paid  by  Cornwallis,  on  hearing  of  his  wound. 
Writing  to  Tarleton,  the  British  General  said :  "  I  shall  be  very  glad 
to  learn  that  Sumpter  is  in  a  condition  to  give  us  no  further  trouble. 
He  certainly  has  been  our  greatest  plague  in  this  country." 

Sumpter  was  able  to  take  the  field  early  in  1781,  in  order  to  assist 
in  diverting  the  attention  of  the  enemy  during  the  retreat  of  Greene 
through  North  Carolina.  On  the  return  of  the  army  to  South  Caro- 
lina, Sumpter  assisted  in  reducing  the  British  chain  of  forts.  For  a 
period  he  now  retired  from  active  service.  To  this  he  was  compelled 
by  exhaustion  and  wounds.  Daring  his  absence  the  terrible  battle 
of  Eutaw  was  fought ;  but  though  not  present  himself,  his  brigade 
was,  and  did  good  service.  When  he  rejoined  his  command,  recruited 
in  health  and  spirits,  the  war  was  virtually  at  an  end. 

Little  remains  to  be  said  of  the  subsequent  life  of  Sumpter,  except 
that  it  was  prosperous,  happy  and  honored.  He  was  a  member  of 
Congress  and  afterwards  a  United  States  Senator.  His  term  of  years 
was  extended  far  beyond  that  usually  allotted  to  mankind  ;  and  he 
lived  to  see  one  after  another  of  his  brother  Generals  drop  into  the 
grave,  while  he  remained  the  last.  His  death  occurred  at  his  resi- 
dence near  Bedford  Springs,  South  Carolina,  June  the  1st,  1832, 
when  he  was  in  the  ninety -eighth  year  of  his  age. 


HENRY     LEE. 

•A'  .^ 

^  ^ENRY  LEE,  Lieu- 
tenant-Colonel Com- 
landant  of  the  parti- 
zan  legion,  was  born 
in  Virginia,  in  the 
year  1757.  At  the 
'age  of  nineteen  he 
entered  the  continen- 
tal army  as  Captain 
of  cavalry  in  the  line 
of  his  native  state ; 
and  speedily  becom- 
ing distinguished  for 
his  activity,  enterprise 
and  daring,  rose  to  the 
rank  of  Major.  In 
1778,  he  planned  an  at- 
tack on  Paulus  Hook, 
a  British  post  opposite 
New  York.  He  sur- 
prised and  captured 
the  garrison,  and  safe- 
ly carried  off  his  prisoners  to  the  American  lines,  the  exploit  being 
58  oo  457 


458  THE  HEROES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 

performed  without  the  loss  of  a  man.  This  brilliant  affair  ensured 
him  the  esteem  and  favor  of  the  Commander-in-chief.  Soon  after 
he  was  appointed  to  raise  a  legionary  corps,  to  act  under  him  as  a 
partially  independent  commander;  and  the  renown  of  his  name 
speedily  enabled  him  to  enlist  his  complement  of  men. 

Lee  accompanied  Greene  to  the  south  immediately  after  the  dis- 
astrous battle  of  Camden.  His  earliest  exploit  was  in  the  retreat 
towards  the  Dan,  when,  in  conjunction  with  Col.  Otho  Williams,  he 
covered  the  rear  in  the  most  brilliant  manner.  From  this  period  his 
services  were  constant,  and  generally  crowned  with  success.  He 
usually  hung  on  the  skirts  of  Greene's  army,  annoying  the  enemy 
at  every  opportunity  and  in  every  way.  Occasionally  he  was 
detached  from  the  main  army  to  co-operate  with  others.  It  was  at 
one  of  these  periods  that  he  and  Marion  made  their  gallant,  though 
unsuccessful  attempt  on  Georgetown.  Subsequently,  in  conjunction 
with  that  General,  he  played  an  important  part  in  the  reduction  of 
the  British  chain  of  posts,  contributing  more  than  any  other  man  to 
the  redemption  of  the  south,  if  we  except  Greene  and  Marion. 

The  legion  of  Lee  was  in  constant  motion.  It  endured  privations 
of  all  kinds,  not  only  without  a  murmur,  but  with  enthusiasm.  Most 
of  its  recruits  were  from  the  middle  states.  They  were  generally  en- 
terprising young  men,  of  superior  intelligence,  education  and  condi- 
tion in  life  to  the  ordinary  privates  of  an  arrny.  Their  leader  was 
of  their  own  age,  and  regarded  them  as  brothers.  Their  numbers 
were  not  large,  and  they  lived  consequently  in  the  closest  intimacy 
with  each  other.  Distinguished  by  superior  privileges,  and  proved 
by  the  many  gallant  deeds  they  had  performed,  they  acquired  gradu- 
ally a  feeling  of  conscious  superiority  and  confidence  in  themselves, 
which,  as  in  the  case  of  the  Old  Guard,  went  far  towards  making 
them  irresistible.  Together  they  endured  a  thousand  privations; 
together  they  conquered  a  thousand  difficulties ;  together  they  shared 
a  thousand  perils.  At  the  distance  of  half  a  century  from  the  period 
of  their  separation,  they  still  remembered  each  other's  faces  as  if  they 
had  only  parted  the  day  before ;  and  it  is  said  that  when  two  of 
their  number  happened  to  meet  after  that  long  separation,  they  rushed 
instinctively  together,  and  with  tears,  ejaculated  each  other's  name. 

Lee  resembled  Marion  rather  than  Sumpter  in  character.  He 
mingled  caution  with  enterprise,  was  exceedingly  careful  of  the  lives 
of  his  men,  and  never  exposed  them  to  unnecessary  toils,  or  to  risks 
too  great  for  the  expected  benefit.  Yet  he  was  bold  at  times,  almost 
to  a  fault ;  and  his  prudence  resulted  more  from  necessity  than  in- 
stinct. For  one  so  young  to  have  displayed  such  qualities  merits 


HENRY    LEE.  459 

the  highest  praise.  We  cannot  rank  Lee  among  the  ordinary  leaders 
of  the  Revolution.  He  deserves  to  be  called  the  Murat  of  Ame- 
rica— though  he  had  far  more  intellect — and  needed  only  the 
same  enlarged  sphere  and  vast  means  to  rival  that  chivalrous 
officer.  It  must  be  borne  in  mind,  when  forming  an  estimate  of  our 
revolutionary  heroes,  that  the  slender  resources  of  the  country  con- 
tinually  crippled  their  exertions,  and  that  they  were  Irequently  com- 
pelled to  be  cautious,  when  bolder  measures  would  have  better 
suited  their  tastes.  It  is  a  remarkable  fact  that  every  leader  who  dis- 
regarded prudence,  and  attempted  to  carry  on  the  war  as  war  was 
carried  on  in  Europe,  failed  with  signal  disgrace.  That  Lee,  at 
twenty-two,  should  have  been  what  he  was,  proves  his  extraordinary 
genius.  Cornwallis  said  of  him,  "  that  he  came  a  soldier  from  his 
mother's  womb." 

The  legion  was  continually  in  the  most  critical  positions.  Once, 
when  the  siege  of  Ninety-Six  was  relieved,  it  had  barely  time  to 
escape,  so  sudden  was  the  approach  of  the  enemy.  It  may  give 
an  idea  of  its  mode  of  life  to  introduce  an  anecdote  here.  Some 
peas  and  beef  had  been  procured,  and  the  men  were  eagerly  watch- 
ing the  process  of  boiling,  when  the  alarm  was  given.  Instantly 
every  man  was  in  his  saddle.  But,  loathe  to  leave  the  dinner  for 
which  they  had  been  hungrily  waiting,  each  soldier  grasped  what 
he  could  get,  some  a  piece  of  beef,  others  a  cap  full  of  peas,  and 
galloped  off:  and,  perhaps,  a  more  ludicrous  spectacle  was  never 
seen  than  the  troops  in  their  flight,  leaning  over  towards  each  other 
and  bargaining  beef  for  peas  and  peas  for  beef,  all  eating  so  fast  they 
could  scarcely  speak.  Another  anecdote  will  illustrate  Lee's  cau- 
tion. He  always,  at  night,  posted  guards  around  the  house  where 
he  expected  to  sleep,  yet  often,  after  the  troopers  generally  had  sunk 
to  repose,  he  would  steal  out  into  the  open  air  and  share  the  blanket 
of  some  favorite.  This  he  did  to  prevent  having  his  person  sur- 
prised. 

When  the  war  terminated,  he  returned  to  his  native  state.  Here 
honors  were  heaped  on  him  by  the  grateful  citizens.  He  was  elect- 
ed to  the  Legislature,  chosen  a  delegate  to  Congress,  and  appointed 
one  of  the  convention  by  which  the  present  federal  constitution  of 
the  United  States  was  adopted.  He  was  also,  for  three  years,  Gov- 
ernor of  Virginia.  Subsequently  he  was  a  member  of  Congress 
under  the  federal  constitution.  He  appeared  in  military  life  but 
once,  after  the  peace  of  1 780 :  this  was  when  he  joined  the  army 
sent  to  quell  the  whiskey  insurrection  in  Western  Pennsylvania. 
He  lived  to  the  age  of  sixty -one,  and  died  at  Cumberland  Island, 


THE  HEKOES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 

Georgia,  on  his  return  from  the  West  Indies  to  Virginia.  The  pru- 
dence which  distinguished  him  as  a  military  leader,  unfortunately 
did  not  follow  him  into  the  transactions  of  private  life,  and,  after 
having  lived  hospitably  and  generously,  it  was  his  lot,  in  old  age,  to 
die  poor.  His  last  hours,  however,  were  sweetened  by  being  per- 
mitted to  die  in  the  arms  of  the  son  of  an  old  mesmate,  whom  he 
had  loved  as  a  brother. 

We  cannot  close  this  sketch  without  referring  to  a  story  which 
has  been  propagated  respecting  Martin  Rudolph,  one  of  Lee's 
legion.  It.  is  said  that  this  individual  secretly  went  to  France,  at 
the  period  of  the  revolution  in  that  country,  and  entering  the  army 
of  the  Rhine  under  an  assumed  name,  subsequently  became  the  re- 
nowned Marshal  Ney.  The  disappearance  of  Rudolph  from  America 
in  1792 ;  the  similarity  of  his  character  to  that  of  the  impetuous 
Ney ;  and  an  assertion  that  the  French  hero  denied  being  a  native 
of  France,  are  the  chief  grounds  on  which  this  romantic  story  is 
based.  We  have  the  authority,  however,  of  a  surviving  member  of 
Lee's  legion,  who  was  Rudolph's  companion  for  years,  to  say  that, 
in  the  published  portraits  of  Marshal  Ney,  there  is  no  resemblance 
to  the  American  hero  ;  and  knowing,  as  we  do,  the  informant's  accu- 
rate memory  in  such  things,  we  should  regard  this  evidence  as  con- 
clusive, even  if  the  fiction  was  sustained  by  stronger  proofs  than 
those  yet  adduced.  The  gentleman  to  whom  we  refer  is  Captain 
James  Cooper,  of  Haddonfield,  N.  J.  We  believe  that,  with  a 
single  exception,  he  is  the  sole  surviving  member  of  the  legion. 


y 


MORGAN   AT   THE   BATTLE   OF   STILLWATEa. 


DANIEL     MORGAN. 


,  ANIEL  MORGAN,  a  Major-General  in 
the  American  army,  was  born  in  New 
.Jersey,  in  1736.  He  belonged  to  the  same 
[class  of  military  heroes  as  Putnam,  Wayne 
and  Arnold,  and  was  known,  among  his 
cotemporaries,  as  "the  thunderbolt  of  war." 
His  intellect  was  not  comprehensive,  nor  his  education 
extensive  ;  but  he  had  great  prudence,  an  invaluable  gift, 
])  especially  when  combined  with  high  personal  courage. 
His  early  life  was  spent  in  Virginia,  where  he  followed 
the  occupation  of  a  wagoner.  While  attending  Brad- 
dock's  army  in  this  capacity,  he  was  subjected  to  the 
indignity  of  receiving  four  hundred  and  fifty  lashes,  for  having  struck 
an  officer  who  had  insulted  him.  He  endured  his  horrible  punish- 
ment without  flinching,  though  he  fainted  at  last  from  extremity  of 
anguish ;  and,  what  is  creditable  to  his  heart,  forgave  the  man  who 
had  injured  him,  when  the  latter,  discovering  that  he  had  been  in 
fault  in  the  original  difference,  asked  Morgan's  pardon.  In  conse- 
quence of  being  disabled  by  this  punishment,  Morgan  was  not 
present  on  the  fatal  field  of  Monongahela. 


oo 


461 


462  THE  HEROES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 

On  his  recovery  he  was  appointed  to  the  rank  of  Ensign,  and  soon 
became  distinguished  for  his  enterprise,  activity  and  courage.  He 
attracted  the  notice  of  Washington  and  secured  the  friendship  of  that 
great  man.  On  one  occasion  he  had  an  almost  miraculous  escape 
from  death.  Accompanied  by  two  scouts,  he  was  carrying  des- 
patches to  a  frontier  fort,  when  the  crack  of  rifles  was  heard,  and 
his  companions  fell  dead  beside  him.  At  the  same  time  a  ball,  en- 
tering the  back  of  his  neck,  passed  out  through  his  cheek,  after  shat- 
tering his  jaw.  Looking  around,  he  saw  several  savages  start  from 
a  neighboring  thicket,  one  of  whom  gave  pursuit  with  his  tomahawk 
raised  to  strike.  Though  believing  himself  mortally  wounded,  Mor- 
gan resolved  not  to  yield  his  scalp  without  an  effort,  and,  grasping 
the  mane  of  his  horse,  dashed  spurs  into  the  sides  of  the  animal  and 
shot  off  towards  the  fort.  At  this  the  savage,  perceiving  the  chase 
likely  to  be  an  abortive  one,  threw  his  hatchet,  but  the  weapon  fell 
short,  and  Morgan  succeeded  in  gaining  the  fort.  For  many  years 
afterwards,  Morgan  lived  at  Battletown,  in  Virginia,  where  he  was 
celebrated  for  his  devotion  to  pugilistic  exercises.  Nor  was  this 
trait  singular.  In  his  humble  sphere  he  played  the  bully,  as,  in  a 
loftier  one,  he  would  have  been  a  duelist :  for  men  of  his  temperament 
are  impelled  to  action  restlessly,  and  if  not  heroes,  must  be  profligates. 

When  the  war  of  independence  began,  Morgan  was  appointed  a 
Captain,  and  immediately  began  to  raise  a  rifle  company,  which 
proved  the  nucleus  of  the  celebrated  corps  that  afterwards  was  of  such 
service  during  the  contest.  Morgan,  in  three  weeks,  with  his  new 
recruits,  completed  the  march  from  Virginia  to  Cambridge,  a  distance 
of  six  hundred  miles.  A  short  time  after  his  arrival  at  head-quar- 
ters, he  was  detached  to  join  the  expedition  of  Arnold  against  Can- 
ada ;  and,  in  the  fatal  attack  on  Quebec,  in  which  Montgomery  fell, 
signalized  himself  by  an  exhibition  of  the  most  desperate  bravery. 
He  belonged  to  Arnold's  division,  and,  assuming  the  command  after 
that  General  was  wounded,  stormed  the  defence,  and  even  gained 
the  second  barrier.  But  here,  notwithstanding  every  exertion,  his 
assault  failed,  and  he  was  taken  prisoner  with  most  of  his  men. 
His  dashing  courage  during  the  attack  had  attracted  the  notice  of 
the  British  Governor,  and  the  rank  of  Colonel  in  the  royal  army  was 
proffered  him  as  an  inducement  to  desert  his  countrymen.  The  pro- 
posal was  rejected  with  scorn.  His  conduct  in  this  affair  met  the 
approval  of  Washington  and  of  Congress  to  such  a  degree,  that,  on 
being  exchanged,  he  was  immediately  raised  to  the  rank  of  Colonel, 
and  the  rifle  brigade,  which  had  now  increased  to  the  number  of 
five  hundred  men,  consigned  to  his  command. 


DANIEL    MORGAN.  463 

When  Burgoyne,  in  1777,  was  advancing  into  the  heart  of  New 
York,  attended  by  hordes  of  Indian  allies,  Morgan  was  despatched 
to  join  Gates,  in  order,  as  Washington  wrote,  that  there  might  be  a 
man  in  the  American  camp  "  to  fight  the  Indians  in  their  own  way." 
His  services,  during  the  campaign  that  ensued,  were  of  the  most 
signal  value.  He  opened  the  battle  of  Stillwater,  and  drove  in  the 
Canadians  and  Indians ;  but  being,  at  last,  overpowered  by  numbers, 
was  forced  back  on  Arnold's  main  position.  In  the  ensuing  skir- 
mishes between  the  two  armies,  Morgan's  corps  was  in  constant 
requisition.  But  when  Burgoyne  surrendered,  Gates  meanly  over- 
looked his  subordinate  in  the  despatches.  It  is  narrated  that,  at  a 
dinner  given  to  some  English  officers,  the  General  was  waited 
on  by  a  person  in  uniform,  whose  appearance  so  struck  the  guests 
that  they  enquired  his  name  :  when  what  was  their  astonishment  to 
learn  that  this  was  the  redoubtable  Morgan,  whose  prowess  they 
had  so  often  felt,  and  an  introduction  to  whom  they  had  vainly  de- 
sired since  their  capture.  The  cause  of  this  neglect  of  Gates,  as  sub- 
sequently discovered,  was  a  refusal  to  join  in  the  cabal  against 
Washington.  During  most  of  the  ensuing  years  of  the  war,  Mor- 
gan served  with  the  main  army.  In  1780,  however,  he  retired 
to  his  farm  in  Frederick  county,  Virginia,  completely  disabled  by  a 
rheumatism  brought  on  by  exposure  during  his  campaigns. 

When  Charleston  fell,  and  Gates  was  appointed  to  the  southern 
army,  Morgan,  although  but  partially  recovered,  accepted  the  rank 
of  Brigadier-General,  and  consented  to  serve  under  his  old  leader. 
He  did  not  arrive  at  head-quarters,  however,  until  after  the  battle 
of  Camden ;  but  carne  with  General  Greene,  when  sent  to  displace 
Gates.  Soon  after  he  was  despatched  to  the  country  in  the  vicinity 
of  the  Pacolet  River,  in  order  to  rouse  the  spirits  of  the  patriots  in 
that  quarter,  as  also  to  make  a  demonstration  against  Ninety-Six. 
Tarleton  was  immediately  sent  in  pursuit.  Morgan  halted  to 
receive  the  British  at  a  place  called  the  Cowpens.  A  sharp,  but  de- 
cisive battle  ensued,  the  particulars  of  which  we  have  narrated  at 
sufficient  length  in  another  place.  The  victory  was  owing,  in  part, 
to  Morgan's  admirable  positions,  in  part  to  the  firmness  of  Lieuten- 
ant-Colonel Howard,  at  the  head  of  the  Maryland  line.  Knowing 
that  Cornwallis,  who  was  but  twenty-five  miles  distant,  would  be 
upon  him  if  he  delayed,  Morgan,  on  the  same  day,  continued  his 
retreat,  and  succeeded  in  crossing  the  Catawba  in  safety  with  his 
prisoners,  though  the  whole  British  army  was  pressing  rapidly  in 
pursuit.  The  moral  effect  of  the  battle  of  the  Cowpens  was 
so  great  as  to  be  almost  incalculable.  It  strikingly  exemplifies 


464  THE  HEROES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 

Morgan's  military  character.  In  the  judicious  tempering  of  courage 
with  prudence,  so  eminently  exhibited  on  that  day,  we  recognize 
the  quality  to  which  he  was  indebted  for  success  and  glory  through- 
out his  whole  career. 

It  was  shortly  after  this  famous  battle  that  Morgan  retired  from 
the  southern  army.  He  had  differed  from  Greene  as  to  the  course 
to  be  pursued  in  the  celebrated  retreat  across  North  Carolina,  and 
to  this  fact  many  have  attributed  his  return  to  private  life  ;  but  the 
more  charitable  supposition  is,  that  his  rheumatism,  from  which  he 
still  suffered  acutely,  led  to  this  result.  Lee,  in  his  narrative  of  the 
campaign,  exonerates  Morgan  from  any  unworthy  motive  in  retiring. 
On  the  advance  of  Cornwallis  into  Virginia,  Morgan  again  took  the 
field,  and  served  until  the  capitulation  at  Yorktown.  He  now 
returned  to  his  farm,  which  he  had  called  "  Saratoga,"  in  memory 
of  the  earlier  days  of  his  glory  ;  and  here,  devoting  himself  to  agri- 
culture, and  to  historical  reading,  he  spent  the  chief  part  of  the 
remainder  of  his  days.  In  1791,  when  the  Indian  war  broke  out,  it 
is  said  that  Washington  desired  to  place  him  at  the  head  of  the 
expedition  sent  to  chastise  the_  savages ;  but  the  pretensions  of  St. 
Glair  were,  perhaps,  too  well  sustained.  In  1794,  however,  at 
the  crisis  of  the  "  whiskey  insurrection,"  Morgan  was  appointed  to 
the  force  marched  against  the  insurgents.  After  this,  he  served  for 
two  sessions  in  Congress.  In  1802,  he  died  at  Winchester,  in  Virginia. 

The  intellect  of  Morgan  was  keen,  and  if  it  had  been  suitably  in- 
formed, would  have  left  him  few  superiors.  In  physical  courage  he 
resembled  Ney.  Macdonald  and  Murat.  His  early  life  was  reckless 
in  some  respects;  but  this  was  merely  the  result  of  high  animal  spirits  ; 
for,  even  during  his  residence  at  Battletown,  he  was  acquiring,  by 
his  prudent  sagacity,  a  comfortable  farm.  In  later  years  he  became 
eminently  pious.  He  had  always,  indeed,  possessed  strong  religious 
feelings,  and  was  accustomed  frequently  to  pray  before  going  into 
battle.  He  used  afterwards  to  say,  that  when  he  saw  Tarletou 
advancing,  at  the  Cowpens,  his  heart  misgave  him,  and  it  w<jg  not 
until  he  had  retired  to  a  clump  of  woods  concealed  from  sight,  arid 
there  prayed  fervently,  that  he  felt  relieved.  "Ah  ! "  he  remarked, 
recounting  this  incident,  "  people  said  old  Morgan  never  feared — 
they  thought  old  Morgan  never  prayed — they  did  not  know — old 
Morgan  was  often  miserably  afraid."  This  constitutional  depression 
of  spirits  on  the  eve  of  great  emergencies,  has  always  been  character- 
istic of  the  bravest  men.  And,  in  fact,  does  not  the  almost  super- 
human courage  such  individuals  exhibit  in  battle  arise  from  the 
rebound  ?  In  Morgan's  case,  at  least,  it  would  seem  to  have  been  so. 


THADDEUS   KOSCIUSZKO. 

EVER,  perhaps,  was 
there  a  more  chivalrous 
soul  than  burned  in  the 
bosom  of  Thaddeus  Kos- 
ciuszko !  This  gallant 
soldier,  better  known  as 
the  hero  of  Poland,  serv- 
ed, in  his  early  life,  in 
the  continental  army  of 
the  United  States,  in 
which  he  held  the  rank 
of  Brigadier-General. — 
He  was  born  on  the  12th 
of  February,  1756,  of  an 
ancient  and  noble  fami- 
ly in  Lithuania.  Having 
been  educated  in  the 
military  school  at  War- 
saw, he  received  a  Captaincy  through  the  influence  of  Prince  Czar- 
59  465 


466  THE  HEROES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 

toriski ;  but,  endeavoring  to  elope  with  a  lady  of  higher  rank  thar 
himself,  he  was  pursued,  wounded  and  obliged  to  leave  Poland. 
From  that  hour  he  appears  to  have  romantically  made  his  sword  his 
mistress.  The  Revolution  in  America  having  just  broken  out,  Kos- 
ciuszko,  inspired  by  a  passionate  love  for  freedom,  hastened  to  our 
shores  and  offered  us  his  aid.  His  abilities  were  immediately  per- 
ceived by  Washington,  who  took  him  iu*o  his  family ;  and  subse- 
quently sent  him  with  Greene  to  the  south,  with  the  rank  of  a  Brig- 
adier. Here  he  acted  as  principal  engineer  to  the  army.  At  the 
attack  on  Ninety-Six,  where  he  directed  the  beseiging  operations,  he 
won  the  highest  credit,  behaving  with  unusual  personal  intrepidity, 
and  evincing  profound  military  science.  At  the  close  of  the  war  he 
returned  to  Europe,  carrying  with  him  an  enviable  reputation. 

But  it  was  the  part  he  took  in  the  struggle  of  Poland,  in  the  years 
1792  and  1794,  which  has  made  the  name  of  Kosciuszko  immortal. 
The  prodigies  of  valor  he  performed,  the  terror  his  mere  presence 
struck  into  the  foe,  scarcely  belong  to  modern  warfare,  but  carry  the 
imagination  back  to  the  fabled  knights  of  old.  At  Dubienka,  in 
1792,  at  the  head  of  four  thousand  men,  he  thrice  repulsed  the 
attack  of  the  Russian  army,  eighteen  thousand  strong.  On  the  sub- 
mission of  Stanislaus,  Kosciuszko  retired  in  disgust  from  Poland. 
But,  in  1794,  when  the  last  and  greatest  struggle  of  the  Poles 
occurred,  he  hastened  once  more  to  urisheath  the  sword  for  his 
native  land.  His  appearance  at  Cracow,  the  ancient  seat  of  the 
Jagellons,  was  hailed  with  tumultuous  shouts.  As  the  friend  of 
Washington,  and  the  hero  of  many  a  bloody  field,  he  was  looked  up 
to  as  the  only  man  who  could  rescue  Poland  ;  and  accordingly,  on 
the  24th  of  March,  notwithstanding  his  comparatively  early  years, 
was  proclaimed  Dictator  and  Generalissimo.  A  victory  gained 
within  a  fortnight  over  twelve  thousand  Russians,  while  Kosciuszko 
had  but  four  thousand  Poles,  filled  the  nation  with  enthusiasm. 
Troops  flocked  to  his  banner,  and  he  soon  found  himself  at  the  head 
of  thirteen  thousand  men.  But,  alas  !  they  were  not  such  as  in  the 
days  of  Sobieski,  when  it  was  the  proud  boast  of  the  Polish  horse- 
men, that  if  the  heavens  were  to  fall,  they  would  support  it  on  the 
points  of  their  lances.  Ill  armed  and  worse  disciplined,  the  Polish 
army  could  not  always  command  victory,  even  with  Kosciuszko  at 
its  head.  On  the  6th  of  June  he  was  defeated  by  a  superior  force 
of  Russians  and  Prussians,  and  compelled  to  retire  on  his  entrench- 
ments at  Warsaw,  to  preserve  himself  from  utter  ruin. 

Here  he  was  speedily  beseiged  by  an  army  of  sixty  thousand  men. 
Day  and  night  his  little  band  watched  and  fought,  until  weeks  grew 


THADDEUS    KOSCIUSZKO.  467 

into  months,  and  the  summer  was  nearly  past.  But  the  enemy  could 
make  no  impression  on  the  works.  At  last  a  general  assault  was 
ordered.  It  was  manfully  repulsed  by  Kosciuszko,  at  the  head  of 
ten  thousand  men,  though  sixty  thousand  Russians  and  Prussians 
swarmed  to  the  attack.  This  repulse  set  Poland  in  a  blaze.  The 
tocsin  of  freedom  sounded  through  the  land,  and  her  population  rose 
in  a  living  mass.  The  siege  of  Warsaw  was  raised.  Troops 
crowded  to  the  banner  of  Kosciuszko.  He  was  hailed  with  rapture 
as  the  deliverer  of  his  country.  But  the  exultation  of  his  fellow 
citizens  was  destined  to  be  of  short  duration.  Kosciuszko  himself 
scarcely  dared  to  hope  for  permanent  success,  surrounded  as  he  was 
by  three  mighty  empires,  all  sworn  to  his  destruction  !  The  defeat 
at  Warsaw  was  no  sooner  known  in  Russia  than  the  most  extensive 
preparations  were  made  to  prepare  an  army  which  should  crush 
forever  the  Polish  patriots. 

This  gigantic  force,  numbering  sixty  thousand,  met  Kosciuszko, 
at  the  head  of  twenty  thousand,  on  the  plains  of  Maciejowice. 
Three  times  the  Russians  assaulted  the  Polish  lines,  and  three  times 
they  were  repulsed ;  but  on  the  fourth  attack  they  succeeded  in 
breaking  the  ranks  of  the  patriots,  now  weakened  by  a  loss  of  one- 
third  their  number.  Kosciuszko,  seeing  the  day  going  against  him, 
made  a  desperate  effort  to  retrieve  the  field.  Calling  a  few  equally 
brave  souls  around  him,  he  rushed  headlong  on  the  assailants ;  and 
for  a  while  they  shrank  appalled  before  his  impetuous  charge  !  But, 
soon  rallying,  they  hemmed  in  the  hero,  who  fell,  at  last,  pierced  by 
numerous  wounds.  "  Poland  is  no  more  I"  were  his  words,  as  he 
sank  to  the  earth.  His  army,  hearing  he  was  down,  fled  in  every 
direction.  With  him  the  cohesive  principle  of  the  struggle  departed, 
and  the  war  was  terminated,  in  a  short  time,  by  the  complete  subju- 
gation of  the  nation. 

Kosciuszko  spent  some  time  in  the  dungeons  of  Russia,  but  on  the 
accession  of  Paul,  was  released.  That  monarch  even  strove  to  pro- 
pitiate the  hero,  and  would  have  presented  his  own  sword  to  Kosci- 
uszko ;  but  the  latter  declined  the  gift,  saying  that  "  he  who  no 
longer  had  a  country,  no  longer  had  need  of  a  weapon."  True  to 
his  word,  he  never  wore  a  sword  again.  He  now  visited  America, 
where  he  received  a  pension.  In  1798,  he  returned  to  Europe,  and 
was  presented  by  the  Poles,  in  the  army  of  Italy,  with  the  sword  of 
John  Sobieski.  Napoleon  would  have  made  use  of  him  as  an  instru- 
ment in  conciliating  the  Poles,  and  for  this  purpose  endeavored  to 
flatter  the  now  aged  hero  with  hopes  of  the  restoration  of  his  native 
land.  But  Kosciuszko  was  not  to  be  deluded,  and  he  constantly 


463 


THE  HEROES  OP  THE  REVOLUTION. 


refused  the  sanction  of  his  name.  Having  purchased  an  estate  near 
Fontainbleau,  he  lived  there  in  retirement  until  the  year  1814.  He 
now  spent  a  year  in  Italy.  In  1816,  he  fixed  his  final  residence  at 
Soleure,  in  Switzerland.  A  fall  from  his  horse,  over  a  precipice,  on 
the  10th  of  October,  1817,  occasioned  his  death.  The  Emperor 
Alexander,  who  had  long  entertained  a  high  admiration  of  .the  hero, 
caused  the  body  of  Kosciuszko  to  be  removed  to  Poland,  and  de- 
posited at  Cracow,  in  the  tombs  of  the  ancient  Kings. 

Kosciuszko  was  a  General  of  the  very  highest  talent,  and  a  patriot 
of  the  most  self-sacrificing  character.  As  Washington  was  the  hero 
of  the  American  Revolution,  so  Kosciuszko  was  that  of  the  Polish 
struggle  of  1794.  How  different  their  fates!  The  one,  crowned 
with  success,  died  in  the  midst  of  a  nation  founded  by  his  victories ; 
the  other,  a  hopeless  exile,  devoured  by  bitter  melancholy,  perished 
alone,  and  in  a  foreign  land.  The  one  lies  in  his  ancestral  shades. 
The  other  cannot,  even  in  death,  repose  on  Polish  soil !  The  tombs 
of  the  Jagellons,  that  should  ever  have  been  held  sacred,  are,  by  a 
late  act  of  perfidy,  transferred  to  Austria  dominion. 


ALEXANDER    HAMILTON. 

LEXANDER  HAMILTON,  Inspector-Ge- 
neral of  the  American  army,  was  born  at 
the  island  of  St.  Croix,  in  the  year  1757; 
but  came  to  the  city  of  New  York  at  the 
age  of  seventeen,  with  his  mother,  who  was 
an  American.  In  1 775,  he  entered  the  army 
as  an  officer  of  artillery.  He  soon  attracted 
the  notice  of  Washington,  who  selected  him 
for  an  aid,  and  in  whose  military  family  he 
continued  many  years. 

Some  men  are  distinguished  for  excellence  in  one  department  : 
such  were  Adams,  Putnam,  Henry,  and  a  host  of  other  !  A  few  excel 
in  all  things.  Of  this  class  was  Hamilton.  The  versatility  of  his 
mind  was  not  less  remarkable  than  its  depth.  Quick  to  apprehend, 
clear  to  reason,  comprehensive  to  judge,  he  filled  in  succession  the 


PP 


469 


470  THE  HEBOES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 

parts  of  soldier,  jurist,  statesman  and  author,  with  a  brilliancy  that 
dazzled  his  cotemporaries,  and  almost  taxes  the  credulity  of  posteri- 
ty. Yet  there  was  nothing  of  the  charlatan  in  his  assuming  so  many 
characters.  His  intellect  was  one  of  those  evenly  balanced  ones  which 
can  master  every  subject  to  which  it  turns  its  energies ;  and  Hamil- 
ton never  trusted  to  his  abilities  alone,  but  fortified  himself  by  long 
and  ardent  study.  His  distinguishing  trait,  like  Napoleon's,  was  a 
mathematical  precision,  which,  in  the  vast  recesses  of  his  mind, 
reduced  all  things  to  syllogisms,  and  thus  seemed,  in  its  results,  to 
be  infallible.  His  majestic  bust,  as  preserved  to  us  by  the  chisel  of 
the  sculptor,  is  the  type  of  intellectual  power.  In  every  lineament  of 
that  striking  yet  beautiful  countenance,  in  the  lofty  forehead,  the 
serene  mouth,  the  brow  knitted  in  thought,  there  is  revealed  that 
colossal  mind,  whose  counsels,  when  uttered,  come  with  the  force 
of  prophecies ! 

Hamilton  is  one  of  those  characters  in  history  who  are  more 
known  by  results,  than  by  any  single  act  of  peculiar  brilliancy.  He 
did  not  blaze  out  in  successive  flashes,  but  shone  with  steady  and 
continual  effulgence.  His  political  career,  like  that  of  the  younger 
Pitt,  is  still  a  theme  for  controversy.  No  one  can  deny  that  he  ex- 
ercised a  mighty  influence  over  his  age.  No  one  can  refuse  to  admit 
that  he  meant  well.  No  one  but  acknowledges  that  his  measures 
were  productive  of  present,  when  not  of  permanent  good.  Yet  his 
political  creed,  at  least  in  its  original  strictness,  is  a  dead  letter.  It 
has  no  advocates.  It  boasts  few  even  secret  friends.  Those  who 
approximate  nearest  to  it,  would  have  been  considered  by  him  and , 
by  his  party  not  less  heterodox  in  their  belief  than  his  worst  antag- 
onists. But  it  does  not  follow  that  Hamilton  was  not  a  great  states- 
man for  his  times,  any  more  than  that  the  mighty  intellects  of  the 
present  day  are  over-rated,  because,  fifty  years  hence,  new  dis- 
coveries in  political  science  may  scatter  what  are  now  popular  theo- 
ries to  the  winds.  The  law  of  the  mind  is  progress.  Each  generation, 
moreover,  has  its  atmosphere  of  prejudice,  which  imperceptibly 
affects  modes  of  thought ;  and  frequently  one  age  condemns  another 
for  want  of  wisdom,  when  the  foolishness  is  in  itself.  Without 
assuming  to  pass  judgment  on  Hamilton,  we  shall  hastily  sketch  his 
portrait,  as  well  as  that  of  the  times  in  which  he  moved. 

Hamilton  is  conceded  to  have  been  a  great  military  genius,  yet,  at 
this  day,  we  can  scarcely  see  on  what  this  reputation  was  based.  It 
rests  more  on  general  consent  than  on  any  one  brilliant  act.  It  is 
said  that  his  suggestions,  on  several  occasions,  led  to  the  most  deci- 
sive results  j  and  the  surprise  at  Trenton  has  been  attributed  to  him 


ALEXANDER    HAMILTON.  471 

by  more  than  one  writer.  But  there  is  no  evidence  in  favor  of  this. 
It  is,  on  the  contrary,  certain  that,  Washington  was  the  first  origina- 
tor of  that  splendid  attack.  Yet,  though  no  particular  act  of  his  can 
be  quoted  as  proof,  we  cannot  refuse  credit  to  the  military  genius  of 
Hamilton.  His  cotemporaries,  who  knew  his  abilities  from  personal 
observation,  could  judge  of  what  he  might  have  done,  if  the  oppor- 
tunity had  been  presented,  while  we,  who  can  only  measure  him  by 
what  he  achieved,  are  comparatively  in  the  dark.  He  carried  with 
him,  out  of  the  war,  a  reputation  for  dashing  courage,  brilliant  tac- 
tics, profound  and  comprehensive  strategy.  Judging,  as  impartial 
men,  we  must  pronounce  this  opinion  right.  Hamilton  could  not 
have  been  less  than  a  great  military  leader ;  for,  in  analysing  his 
character,  we  find  all  the  necessary  qualifications.  He  possessed 
vast  mathematical  ability.  He  was  always  cool,  rapid,  and  of  the 
keenest  insight.  At  Monmouth,  where  he  rushed  on  death  to  check 
the  retreat,  and  at  Yorktown,  where  he  stormed  the  batteries  without 
pulling  a  trigger,  he  showed  himself  as  brave,  yet  as  self-collected 
as  any  Paladin  of  old.  To  crown  all,  he  had  been  brought  up  by 
Washington.  With  these  advantages  a  weaker  man  than  Hamilton 
would  have  become  a  great  Captain. 

When  he  returned  to  civil  life  he  adopted  the  profession  of  the 
law,  and  soon  become  as  celebrated  here  as  in  his  military  career. 
Yet  he  had  received  little,  or  none  of  that  training,  which  is  con- 
sidered indispensable  to  the  great  advocate.  His  eloquence,  as  it 
has  came  down  to  us  by  tradition,  bore  the  impress  of  a  rich,  but 
uncultivated  mind.  It  was  strong,  direct,  commanding,  rather  than 
gentle,  seductive,  or  ornamental.  It  had  nerves  of  iron,  and  fibres 
of  silver.  It  was  the  eloquence  of  a  man  in  earnest.  It  en- 
dured no  trifling.  Yet  it  was  not  bold,  like  that  of  his  great 
rival,  Burr.  On  the  contrary,  it  gave  evidence  of  the  luxu- 
riant source  from  which  it  sprung ;  and,  while  rushing  and  irresisti- 
ble, was  still  broad  and  deep.  His  principles  were  such  as  were 
worthy  of  his  intellect.  He  loathed  duplicity,  scorned  meanness, 
hated  villainy.  He  was  honorable  and  high-minded.  Yet,  in  some 
things,  he  allowed  his  zeal  to  outstrip  his  justice.  He  was  often 
indiscreet.  He  could  make  others,  when  he  wished,  dislike  him 
cordially ;  and  he  could  dislike  in  turn.  He  had  not  the  stern  virtue 
of  Jay,  at  all  times,  to  resist  the  temptations  of  policy  or  the  fear  of 
public  opinion.  Yet  he  was,  on  the  whole,  a  pure  man  ;  purer  than 
most  of  his  cotemporaries ;  and  his  death,  when  he  fell  by  the  hand 
of  Burr,  made  a  vacancy  never  since  filled. 

It  would  be  the  best  epitaph  for  Alexander  Hamilton,  that  he 


472  THE  HEROES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 

contributed,  more  than  any  other  man,  to  procure  the  adoption  of 
the  Constitution  of  these  United  States.  The  peace  of  1783  found 
the  colonies  united  under  the  articles  of  the  old  confederation.  But, 
having  been  chosen  during  the  hurry  of  the  war,  they  were  crude 
and  clumsy,  exhibiting  in  every  feature  the  mutual  jealousies  of  the 
states.  Each  commonwealth  was,  to  all  purposes,  an  independent 
sovereignty.  The  power  of  Congress  was  merely  advisory.  No 
compulsion  could  be  exercised  by  that  body  over  the  separate  mem- 
bers of  the  confederacy.  Neither  taxes  could  be  levied,  nor  duties 
raised  in  any  state  where  the  tax  or  duty  was  unpopular.  Mean- 
while the  revenue  was  inadequate  to  pay  the  interest  of  the  debt, 
much  less  to  liquidate  the  principal.  The  holders  of  scrip  complained : 
the  soldiers  clamored  for  arrears.  Officers  who  had  spent  their  all 
in  the  service  of  their  country,  and  who  only  asked  a  return  of  what 
they  had  expended,  in  vain  petitioned  for  relief,  and  died,  with  their 
families,  in  miserable  destitution.  The  indifference  to  obligations, 
exhibited  by  the  states,  began  to  spread  to  private  individuals :  the 
force  of  contracts  was  less  and  less  regarded ;  disorganization  every, 
where  infested  political  and  social  life.  Massachusetts  was  the  scene 
of  insurrection.  It  was  evident  that,  if  this  state  of  things  continued, 
anarchy  must  ensue.  Confidence  in  republicanism  began  to  give 
way.  Men  of  fortune  trembled  for  their  property.  Commerce  was 
dead ;  manufactures,  there  were  none  ;  even  agriculture  languished 
in  the  general  decay. 

At  last  the  evil  became  endurable  no  longer.  All  parties  agreed 
that  a  change  was  necessary,  and  the  result  was  a  proposal  for  a 
general  convention,  in  which  some  form  of  government,  more  pliable 
than  the  old  confederation,  might  be  adopted.  The  convention  met 
in  1787.  Never,  perhaps,  will  a  more  august  body  assemble.  It 
numbered,  among  its  members,  the  purest  as  well  as  the  ablest  of 
the  land :  men  eminent  for  wisdom,  for  learning,  for  immaculate 
probity.  But  it  was  soon  found  that  their  sentiments  were  as  diverse 
as  their  modes  of  life,  or  the  states  from  which  they  came.  The 
secrecy  which,  for  a  long  time,  veiled  the  transactions  of  that  bod  y, 
has  now  been  drawn  aside,  and  we  can  speak  of  its  proceedings 
with  accuracy,  if  not  with  impartiality.  Two  great  parties  divided 
the  convention.  On  each  side  was  arrayed  vast  ability,  and  an 
honesty  of  purpose  that  could  not  be  questioned.  One  section,  fear- 
ing that  anarchy  was  at  hand,  declared  in  favor  of  imitating  the 
British  Constitution ;  another,  unwilling  for  the  sovereignty  of  the 
states  to  be  absorbed,  wished  to  patch  up  the  old  confederation.  It 
is  difficult,  at  this  day,  to  place  ourselves  sufficiently  on  a  level  with 


ALEXANDER    HAMILTON.  473 

that  period  to  do  equal  justice  to  both  parties.  It  must  be  recollect- 
ed that  no  republic  had  then  ever  successfully  preserved  its  liberty, 
and  that  England  was  confessedly  the  freest  country  on  the  globe. 
It  must  be  remembered,  also,  that  monarchy  was  familiar  to  the 
people,  and  that,  scarcely  twenty  years  before,  America  had  been 
over  zealous  in  loyalty.  It  was  not  so  strange,  therefore,  that  men 
should  lean  to  a  strong  government,  especially  when  they  saw  no 
guide  by  which  to  carry  the  nation  through  the  anarchy  that  threat- 
ened on  all  hands.  Hamilton  was  one  of  those  who  favored  con- 
solidation. He  may  even  have  distrusted  the  capacity  of  the  people 
for  self-government ;  but  he  was  willing  to  give  them  a  fair  trial, 
and  pledged  all  the  influence  of  his  talents  on  that  side.  The  result 
was  a  compromise  between  the  two  parties,  and  the  adoption  of  the 
Constitution  in  its  present  shape.  In  favor  of  this  instrument  Ham- 
ilton successfully  exerted  his  eloquence,  in  order  to  procure  its 
adoption  by  the  states. 

For  a  while  the  friends  and  enemies  of  the  new  government  united 
to  give  it  a  fair  trial.  But  this  did  not  continue  long.  Hamilton 
had  been  appointed  Secretary  of  the  Treasury ;  and  the  first  object 
that  claimed  his  attention  was  the  making  a  provision  for  the  public 
debt.  He  boldly  proposed  to  fund  this,  and  fund  it  without  deduc- 
tion. But,  as  the  original  creditors  had  long  since  parted  with  their 
claims,  at  a  depreciated  price,  it  seemed  unjust  to  some,  that  the 
speculators  who  had  bought  up  the  scrip  should  be  paid  off  at  par. 
At  once  the  country  split  into  two  factions  on  this  question.  A 
nucleus  having  been  thus  formed,  the  tendency  to  assimilation  in- 
creased, and  two  great  parties  gradually  grew  from  this  slight 
beginning.  One  numbered  in  its  ranks  those  who  wished  for  a  strong 
government,  the  other,  those  who  had  desired  a  weak  one.  One 
was  for  a  liberal,  the  other  for  a  strict  construction  of  the  Constitu- 
tion. One  was  for  high  taxes,  a  funded  debt,  a  bank,  a  full  dis- 
charge of  all  obligations  ;  the  other  for  light  imposts,  no  bank,  and  a 
discrimination  between  the  original  creditor  and  speculators  holding 
his  rights.  The  one  found  most  adherents  at  the  north :  the  other 
at  the  south.  Both  parties  were,  in  the  main,  honest.  At  the  out- 
set, however,  the  federalists  had  the  ablest  men.  But,  as  the  strife 
waxed  fiercer,  it  was  found  that  the  latter  labored  under  many  dis- 
advantages, fatal  to  their  permanent  popularity.  The  leaders  had 
been  in  the  army  and  were  thought  to  be  despotic  in  their  views. 
They  had  formed  the  Cincinnati,  a  society,  as  at  first  established, 
having  the  appearance  of  a  self-constituted  aristocracy.  They 
openly  avowed  their  leaning  towards  consolidation.  Some  were 
60  pp* 


474  THE    HEROES    OF    THE    REVOLUTION. 

even  thought  to  desire  a  monarchy.  A  few,  inflated  by  vanity, 
longed  for  the  pomp  and  display  of  courts.  But  they  were  all,  or 
nearly  all,  honest  men.  No  one  has  ever  raked  up,  from  the  ashes 
of  expired  faction,  a  single  well  authenticated  charge  against  the 
integrity  of  Washington,  Marshall,  or  Jay. 

Their  opponents  were  of  less  ability,  were  less  known  by  their 
services,  and  enjoyed,  originally,  less  of  the  consideration  of  their 
fellow  men.  But  they  possessed  a  more  alluring  creed.  They  pro- 
fessed unlimited  confidence  in  the  good  sense  and  virtue  of  the 
people,  and  were  for  pushing  the  experiment  of  self-government  as 
near  to  a  pure  democracy  as  possible.  But  these  opinions  had 
never,  at  that  day,  been  tested  by  trial ;  and  men  of  timorous  minds 
shrank  from  them  in  fear,  especially  when  they  found  that,  in  both 
Massachusetts  and  Pennsylvania,  the  people  had  risen  against  their 
own  laws,  passed  by  their  own  representatives.  The  contest  be- 
tween the  two  parties  waxed  hotter  and  fiercer.  New  questions 
became  continually  involved  in  the  dispute,  new  subjects  of  acrimo- 
ny arose,  until,  in  the  Presidency  of  John  Adams,  when  the  rebuking 
aspect  of  Washington  was  withdrawn,  the  nation  boiled  and  seethed 
to  its  lowest  depths.  Each  side  viewed  the  other  through  a  dis- 
torted medium.  Misrepresentations  abounded.  The  fever  of  the 
French  Revolution,  and  the  wars  growing  out  of  it,  infected  the 
nation,  and  tended  to  madden  the  two  factions  still  more.  The 
federalists  were  declared  to  be  in  the  British  interest ;  their  oppo- 
nents were  charged  with  selling  the  country  to  France.  The  insults 
of  the  Directory  provoked  one  ;  the  haughtiness  of  England  irritated 
the  other.  A  noisy  riot,  in  which  some  windows  were  broken,  was 
said  by  the  republicans  to  have  been  ari  abortive  attempt  at  a  gene- 
ral massacre  of  their  party ;  a  street  mob,  in  which  men  and  boys, 
wearing  the  Jacobin  cap,  danced  around  a  liberty  pole,  was  cried 
down  as  the  prelude  to  a  Reign  of  Terror.  The  republicans  were 
said  to  covet  spoilation  and  anarchy  because  Jefferson  had  frater- 
nized with  Volney,  Barras,  Marat  and  Barere  ;  the  federalists  were 
charged  with  intending  a  monarchy,  because  John  Adams  wore  a 
bag  and  sword,  because  Callender  had  been  imprisoned  for  a  libel, 
because  Washington  received  company  once  a  week  at  a  levee. 

In  this  tumultuous  ocean  of  politics  Hamilton  was  a  leading  ele- 
ment. He  had  become  an  ardent  advocate  for  the  Constitution  the 
moment  it  had  been  chosen  by  the  convention,  and  had  contributed 
materially  to  its  adoption  by  a  series  of  essays  since  entitled  the 
Federalist.  On  the  elevation  of  Washington  to  the  Presidency,  he 
had  been  selected  for  the  Treasuryship,  and  had  given,  as  we  have 


*  ALEXANDER    HAMILTON.  475 

seen,  the  first  occasion  for  the  foundation  of  party  by  his  funding 
system.  He  and  Mr.  Jefferson  soon  came  to  be  considered  the 
leaders  of  the  two  opposite  factions,  and  frequently,  while  both  were 
members  of  the  Cabinet,  it  was  with  difficulty  Washington  could 
restrain  them  in  his  presence.  Each,  finally,  retired  to  private  life, 
bitter  political  enemies.  Yet,  when  John  Adams  succeeded  to  the 
Presidency,  Hamilton  did  not  implicitly  adopt  the  creed  promulgated 
by  that  honest,  but  obstinate,  and  far  less  able  man. 

On  the  contrary,  he  made  no  secret  of  his  preference  in  faVor  of 
Pinckney  for  the  Presidency  ;  and  by  so  doing,  he  probably  contri- 
buted indirectly  to  the  elevation  of  Jefferson  and  Burr.  Whatever 
may  have  been  its  faults  and  its  virtues,  and  the  time  has  scarcely 
come  to  canvass  them  freely,  the  federal  party  could  scarcely  have 
survived  much  longer  than  it  did ;  for  there  were  defects  inherent  in 
it,  as  a  party  seeking  popular  favor,  which  must,  sooner  or  later, 
have  produced  its  downfall,  even  if  it  had  triumphed  in  the  election 
of  1801.  But,  on  this  subject,  we  shall  speak  more  at  length,  when 
we  come  to  the  biography  of  Burr. 

In  1798,  when  a  war  with  France  was  threatened,  and  a  provi- 
sional army  was  raised  with  Washington  at  its  head,  Hamilton  re- 
ceived the  appointment  of  Inspector-General,  and,  in  a  short  time, 
carried  the  organization  and  discipline  of  his  forces  to  high  perfec- 
tion. On  the  termination  of  the  dispute  with  France,  he  resumed 
his  profession.  In  1804,  he  took  a  conspicuous  part  in  defeating  the 
election  of  Burr  for  Governor  of  New  York.  During  the  campaign, 
he  had  publicly  expressed  his  want  of  confidence  in  the  Vice-Presi- 
dent as  a  politician  and  a  man  ;  and  the  latter,  fixing  on  this  to  re- 
venge years  of  fancied  wrong,  and  certainly  injured  in  position  by  the 
accusation,  challenged  him.  A  duel  was  the  consequence,  in  which 
Hamilton  fell.  Impartial  history  must  record  the  fact  that  Burr  had 
deliberately  resolved  on  the  murder  of  his  great  rival.  Posterity 
will  ever  regret  that  Hamilton  could  be  induced  on  any  considera- 
tion to  engage  in  a  duel.  It  was  a  mode  of  adjusting  differences 
abhorrent  to  his  sense  of  right,  and  he  seems  to  have  entered  on  it 
with  a  presentiment  of  his  fate. 

Thus  perished,  in  the  forty-seventh  year  of  his  age,  one  of  the 
most  remarkable  men  this  country  has  yet  produced.  His  death 
was  followed  by  almost  universal  mourning.  Even  his  political 
adversaries,  now  that  the  grave  had  closed  over  him,  forgot  their 
differences,  and  mingled  their  tears  with  those  of  his  immediate 
partizans  and  friends.  In  several  of  the  chief  cities  of  the  Union, 
funeral  orations  were  pronounced  on  the  occasion.  At  others  the 


476 


THE  HEROES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 


bells  tolled  and  the  flags  were  displayed  at  half  mast.  In  New 
York,  from  a  stage  in  the  portico  of  Trinity  Church,  Governor  Mor- 
ris, attended  by  the  four  orphan  boys  of  Hamilton,  pronounced  an 
extemporaneous  oration  over  the  remains,  interrupted  only  by  the 
sobs  of  the  multitude.  How  different  the  obsequies  of  his  great 
rival,  Aaron  Burr ! 


AARON    BURR. 


ARON  BURR,  a  Colonel  in  the  Ameri- 
can army,  was  bom  on  the  6th  of  Fe- 
bruary, 1756,  in  Newark,  New  Jersey. 
On  both  the  paternal  and  maternal  side 
he  was  descended  from  those  illustrious 
for  talent.  His  father  was  a  divine  of 
celebrity,  the  President  of  Princeton 
College.  His  grandfather  was  the  re- 
nowned Jonathan  Edwards,  the  greatest 
metaphysician  since  the  days  of  Chillingworth.  His  mother  was 
famed  not  less  for  talent  than  for  exemplary  piety.  With  every  ad- 
vantage of  birth,  fortune  and  education  at  the  opening  of  life,  Burr 
was  destined,  before  his  death,  to  become  a  memorable  example  of 

477 


478  THE  HEROES  OP  THE  REVOLUTION. 

talents  abused,  opportunities  neglected,  and  a  virtuous  name  covered 

with  obloquy. 

At  the  age  of  eighteen  Burr  entered  the  array.  This  was  imme- 
diately after  the  battle  of  Bunker  Hill.  His  parents  being  dead,  he 
was  under  the  care  of  a  guardian,  who  sent  a  messenger  to  bring 
him  back,  but  Burr,  with  the  headlong  and  daring  nature  that  belong- 
ed to  him  so  eminently,  threatened  to  have  the  man  hung,  unless  he 
returned,  for  tampering  with  a  soldier's  duty.  He  subsequently  ac- 
companied Arnold  to  Canada,  in  that  terrible  expedition  across  the 
wilderness  of  Maine.  He  was  one  of  Montgomery's  aids,  and  pre- 
sent at  the  battle  .of  Quebec,  and  throughout  the  whole  campaign 
that  ensued  he  conducted  himself  with  so  much  courage  and  ability, 
that  when  he  returned  to  the  United  States,  Washington  conferred 
on  him  the  high  honor  of  a  post  in  his  family.  But  even  at  this 
early  day  Burr  was  a  profligate  in  morals,  and  this  becoming  known 
to  Washington,  the  Commander-in-chief  and  his  young  aid  parted, 
on  the  one  side  with  pitying  reproof,  on  the  other  with  enmity  and  a 
smothered  desire  for  revenge.  Burr  now  joined  the  line,  where  he 
served  with  credit.  But,  in  a  few  years,  he  quitted  the  army,  partly 
from  ill-health,  partly  because  he  thought  himself  neglected.  Wash- 
ington, to  the  last,  acknowledged  the  great  abilities  of  Burr,  but,  as  he 
believed  the  young  Colonel  not  a  man  to  be  trusted,  Burr  was  never 
honored  as  others  were,  with- any  of  the  marks  of  his  regard. 

Burr  now  devoted  himself  to  the  law,  in  which  profession  he  rose 
rapidly.  He  became  one  of  the  leaders  of  the  New  York  bar,  was 
made  Attorney-General  of  the  commonwealth,  and  shortly  after  the 
adoption  of  the  Federal  Constitution,  was  elected  a  United  States 
Senator.  As  a  lawyer  he  was  distinguished  for  tact  rather  than  for 
erudition.  He  was  expert  in  all  the  trickery  of  the  courts.  Shrewd, 
persevering,  subtle,  ever  assailing  his  adversary  on  points  least  ex- 
pected, he  gained,  right  or  wrong,  a  large  portion  of  the  cases  con- 
fided to  him.  He  brought  to  the  bar  that  profligacy  of  opinion  which 
few,  besides  Washington,  had  yet  detected.  His  maxim  "  that  the 
law  is  whatever  is  boldly  asserted  and  plausibly  maintained,"  forms 
a  key  to  his  principles.  His  character  is  admirably  illustrated  by  an 
anecdote  current  of  this  period  of  his  life.  Burr  was  employed  in  a 
great  land  suit,  in  which  his  opponent  had  all  the  right  on  his  side. 
On  the  day  of  trial,  however,  Burr  trumped  up  evidence,  to  the  aston- 
ishment of  every  one,  to  prove  that  an  old  deed,  necessary  to  the  chain 
of  his  antagonist's  title,  was  a  forgery.  No  one  had  ever  before 
called  in  question  the  authenticity  of  the  deed,  and  consequently  his 
opponent  was  unprovided  with  the  necessary  testimony.  Burr  gain- 


AARON    BURR.  479 

ed  the  cause  accordingly,  and  his  client  lived  and  died  in  possession 
of  the  estate,  though  two  verdicts  have  since  established  the  authen- 
ticity of  the  deed  and  restored  the  land  to  its  rightful  owners. 

As  a  politician  Burr  rose  rapidly.  Affable,  munificent,  easy  of  access, 
full  of  popular  arts,  he  was  admirably  calculated  for  success  in  public  life. 
His  ascent  was  so  rapid  as  almost  to  seem  miraculous.  First,  Attorney 
General  of  New  York,  then  Senator,  in  a  few  years  he  was  Vice-Pre- 
sident, and  had  barely  missed  the  Presidency  itself.  And  this  suc- 
cess he  owed  to  his  genius  for  intrigue.  We  cannot  better  illustrate 
the  tharacter  of  this  extraordinary  man  than  by  describing  the  part 
he  played  in  the  election  of  1800,  when  the  two  great  factions  which 
then  divided  the  nation,  were  grappling,  in  their  death  struggle.  The 
whole  story  is  as  strange  and  fascinating  as  anything  in  Arabian 
fiction. 

Burr  early  foresaw  that  the  result  would  be  determined  by  the  vote 
of  the  city  of  New  York.  But  there  existed  at  that  time,  an  appa- 
rently irreconcilable  breach  in  the  republican  faction  of  that  place. 
To  heal  this  breach  Burr  set  himself  industriously  to  work.  He  har- 
monized by  his  wonderful  address  the  discordant.elements,  and  pro- 
cured the  nomination  of  a  legislative  ticket  agreeable  to  both  divi- 
sions of  the  party.  He  was  indefatigable  day  and  night ;  he  wheedled, 
he  cajoled,  he  made  large  promises.  On  the  morning  of  the  election  he 
met  General  Hamilton  at  the  polls  and  argued  with  him,  before  the 
people,  the  great  questions  on  which  they  differed.  Burr  triumphed. 
The  republicans  elected  their  ticket ;  this  gave  their  party  a  majority 
in  the  legislature,  and  as  that  body  then  chose  the  electors,  the  vote 
of  the  great  state  of  New  York  was  cast  for  Jefferson,  and  was  thought 
to  decide  his  elevation  to  the  Presidency.  Never  before  had  such  a 
triumph  been  achieved  by  the  genius  of  one  man. 

Congress  met.  The  federalists  were  sullen  and  in  despair ;  the  re 
publicans  could  not  conceal  their  extravagant  joy.  But  suddenly  a 
discovery  was  made  which  changed  the  emotions  of  both  parties. 
In  consequence  of  a  neglect  in  the  customary  practice  of  dropping  a 
vote,  it  was  found  that  Burr  would  count  as  high  as  Jefferson,  and 
consequently  there  being  no  choice  by  the  people,  the  election  would 
go  into  the  House,  where  the  federalists  having  the  majority,  threat- 
ened to  elect  Burr. 

A  more  scandalous  intrigue,  if  this  were  true,  was  never  projected. 
The  whole  country  was  paralyzed  at  the  intelligence  of  it.  The  par- 
tizans  of  Jefferson  filled  even  the  remotest  towns  with  their  clamors 
of  indignation,  which  grew  louder  and  more  threatening  as  the  terri- 
ble ballotthat  ensued  in  Congress  was  protracted  from  day  today.  This 


480  THE    HEROES    OF    THE    REVOLUTION. 

ballot,  by  a  resolution  of  both  Houses,  was  to  continue  without  in- 
termission until  an  election  took  place.  The  vote  was  by  states.  On 
the  first  ballot  Jefferson  had  eight,  Burr  six,  and  two  states  were  divi- 
ded. Ten  were  necessary  to  a  choice.  The  balloting  continued  for 
eight  days  without  the  variation  of  a  vote.  The  hall  of  the  House, 
during  this  protracted  interval,  presented  a  singular  scene.  Every 
member  was  in  his  place.  Those  who  were  sick  attended  in  beds  ; 
those  who  became  wearied  slept  at  their  desks.  Thirty-six  ballotings 
had  now  been  taken.  Terror  and  alarm  seized  on  all  men's  hearts. 
The  republic  seemed  to  be  at  the  verge  of  ruin.  It  was  rumored  that 
the  federalists  intended  to  prevent  an  election,choose  a  Vice-President 
of  the  Senate,  and  forcibly  hold  the  government  for  the  next  four 
years.  If  this  was  attempted,  the  republicans  threatened  to  rise  in 
arms.  A  meeting  was  convened  at  Philadelphia  which  resolved  to 
equip  at  a  moment's  notice,  march  on  Washington,  and  purge  the 
House  of  Representatives.  The  days  of  Cromwell  seemed  about  to 
visit  us.  Every  timber  of  the  republic  quivered  in  that  awful  crisis. 
At  last  the  federalists  gave  way,  and  Jefferson  was  elected. 

It  was  not  until  some  time  afterwards  that  Burr  was  accused  of 
having  tampered  with  the  federalists  for  the  office  of  President.  We  do 
not  believe  the  charge.  Not,  however,  that^we  think  him  incapable 
of  the  act.  He  was  a  man  so  thoroughly  reckless  of  principle,  so 
ready  to  grasp  at  any  and  every  means  of  self-aggrandisement,  that 
if  he  could  have  believed  in  the  sincerity  of  the  federalists,  and  been 
certain  of  their  full  support  in  case  he  made  advances,  he  would  have 
promptly  come  forward  and  abetted  the  plot.  But  Burr  knew  that 
if  he  made  overtures  which  proved  unsuccessful,  he  would  be  ruined 
with  both  parties :  with  his  own  for  having  betrayed  it,  with  the 
federalists  for  being  their  dupe.  He  therefore  stood  aloof.  In  ad- 
dition, he  had  too  much  good  sense  not  to  foresee  that,  in  case  he 
was  chosen  to  the  Presidency,  all  his  own  party,  and  the  most  honest 
of  the  other,  in  short,  nine-tenths  of  the  community,  would  execrate 
and  desert  him.  In  fact,  he  hesitated.  The  federalists  themselves 
exonerate  him  from  any  active  agency  in  the  intrigue ;  they  gave 
up  the  struggle,  they  said,  only  because  they  found  he  would  do 
nothing  for  himself. 

But  Burr  gradually  lost  the  confidence  of  his  party.  Jefferson 
ever  after  mistrusted  him.  In  his  own  state,  the  two  great  families 
which  then,  as  of  old  in  patrician  Rome,  divided  the  suffrages  of  the 
republic,  resolved  on  his  ruin.  At  first  the  charge  of  having  tam- 
pered with  the  federalists  was  vaguely  hinted.  Then  it  was  repeat- 
ed with  statements  of  time,  place  and  person.  Soon  the  administra- 


AARON    BTTRR. 

tion  journals  took  up  the  accusation :  and  finally  it  began  to  be 
spoken  of  as  a  matter  placed  beyond  the  reach  of  cavil.  For  a  long 
time,  Burr  treated  the  charge  with  that  contemptuous  scorn  which 
was  one  of  his  characteristics.  But  finally  he  found  himself  forced 
to  reply.  It  was  then  too  late.  The  public  ear  had  been  pre-occu- 
pied ;  and  to  this  day  the  belief  in  his  guilt  js  almost  universal  with 
the  people.  The  fact  is,  his  character  was  found  out ;  he  was 
deemed  capable  of  any  baseness ;  and  he  fell  from  his  dizzy  eleva- 
tion with  a  rapidity  equal  to  that  of  his  ascent. 

The  duel  with  Hamilton  completed  his  ruin.  As  a  last  throw  in 
the  political  game,  Burr  had  run  for  Governor  of  New  York,  sup- 
ported by  a  portion  of  the  republican,  and  the  mass  of  the  federal 
party.  Hamilton,  by  lending  his  influence  to  the  regularly  nomi- 
nated democratic  candidate,  had  defeated  Burr.  The  baffled  aspirant 
resolved  on  revenge.  Hamilton  had  expressed,  on  one  occasion,  his 
belief  that  it  would  be  dangerous  to  confide  in  the  integrity  of  Burr. 
This  was  sufficient  for  that  person  to  fasten  a  duel  on  his  great  rival. 
Burr,  resolving  to  kill  Hamilton,  as  he  afterwards  admitted  to  Jeremy 
Bentham  when  in  England,  practiced  daily  with  his  pistols  for  a 
week  before  the  meeting.  If  this  was  not  premeditated  murder  we 
know  not  what  is.  Hamilton  fell  at  the  first  fire. 

Instantly  a  storm  of  indignation  was  raised  throughout  the  coun- 
try, such  as  never  before  had  been  heard  of;  men  at  once  pronounced 
the  death  of  Hamilton  a  virtual  assassination  ;  all  parties  went  into 
mourning  for  him ;  New  York  and  New  Jersey  each  indicted  Burr 
for  homicide ;  and  he  who  had  lately  traversed  the  Union  amid  the 
acclamations  of  crowds,  now  skulked  from  village  to  village  with  a 
price  set  on  his  head.  He  went  out  like  Cain,  with  the  brand  of 
God  upon  him.  His  slow  and  noiseless  step  ;  his  glittering  eye  ;  the 
ready  smile  on  his  inscrutable  brow,  as  they  are  depicted  by  the 
men  of  that  generation,  conjure  forcibly  up  the  image  of  the  in- 
triguer, the  traitor,  the  assassin. 

He  was  now  a  desperate  man.  His  term  as  Vice-President  had 
expired,  and  his  party  cast  him  out  with  loathing  and  scorn.  His 
fortune  was  squandered,  his  business  as  a  lawyer  gone.  He  wan- 
dered for  some  time  over  the  southern  and  western  states.  Ordinary 
men  would  have  yielded,  without  a  further  struggle,  to  fate.  But  Burr, 
in  the  vastness  of  his  adventurous  mind,  now  conceived  a  project  whose 
magnitude  carries  the  imagination  back  to  the  times  when  Cortez 
plundered  the  Montezumas,  when  Pizarro  put  an  Inca  to  ransom, 
when  cities  were  sacked  by  the  free  rovers  of  the  seas. 

Far  away  to  the  south-west,  a  thousand  miles  beyond  the  plains 
61  QQ 


482  THE    HEROES    OF    THE    REVOLUTION. 

of  Louisiana,  lay  a  vast  and  wealthy  empire,  governed  by  tyrants 
whom  the  people  hated,  and  defended  by  troops  whom  soldiers 
should  despise.  For  centuries  the  riches  of  that  kingdom  had  been 
the  theme  of  travellers.  Her  mines  were  inexhaustible,  and  had 
flooded  Europe  with  gold.  Her  nobles  enjo  ed  the  revenues  of 
Emperors.  Her  capital  city  was  said  to  blaz  wi  jewels.  It  was 
known  to  look  down  on  the  lake  into  whose  waters  the  unhappy 
Gautamozin  had  cast  the  treasures  of  that  long  line  of  native  princes 
of  which  he  was  the  last.  Men  dreamed  of  that  magnificent  city  as 
Aladdin  dreamed  of  his  palaces,  as  Columbus  of  Cathay.  Costly 
statues,  vessels  of  gold  and  silver,  jewels  of  untold  value,  troops  of 
the  fairest  Indian  girls  for  slaves,  all  that  the  eye  delighted  in,  or  the 
heart  of  man  could  desire,  it  was  currently  declared,  would  form  the 
plunder  of  Mexico.  A  bold  adventurer,  commanding  an  army  of 
Anglo-Saxon  soldiers,  could  possess  himself  of  the  empire  in  less 
than  a  twelve-month.  The  times  were  favorable  to  the  enterprise. 
The  .priesthood  throughout  Mexico  was  disaffected,  and  would 
gladly  lend  its  aid  to  any  conqueror  who  secured  its  privileges ;  and 
the  priesthood  then,  as  now,  exercised  a  paramount  influence  over 
the  weak  and  superstitious  Mexicans.  America,  too,  was  thought 
to  be  on  the  eve  of  a  Spanish  war,  when  the  contemplated  expedi- 
tion might  easily  be  fitted  out  at  New  Orleans.  Burr  saw  the  glit- 
tering prize  and  resolved  to  sieze  it.  He  was  an  outcast  in  his 
native  country,  but  he  would  become  the  ruler  of  a  prouder  land. 
He  would  conquer  this  gorgeous  realm.  He  would  realize  in  the 
new  world,  as  Napoleon  in  the  old,  a  dream  of  romance.  He  would 
surround  his  throne  with  Dukes  and  Marshals  and  Princes  of  the 
empire.  The  pomp  of  chivalry,  the  splendors  of  the  east  should  be 
revived  in  his  gorgeous  court.  And  when  he  had  founded  this 
empire,  and  girt  his  throne  with  these  new  Paladins,  he  would  look 
back  with  scorn  on  the  country  which  had  cast  him  off.  And  who 
knew  what  further  conquests  he  might  achieve  ?  Realms  equally 
rich,  and  even  more  easy  of  spoil  opened  to  the  south,  to  whose 
conquest  his  successors,  if  not  himself  might  aspire.  Perhaps  nothing 
would  check  his  victorious  banner  until  he  had  traversed  the  conti- 
nent, and  stood  on  that  bold  and  stormy  promontory  where  the  con- 
tending waters  of  the  Atlantic  and  Pacific  lash  around  Cape  Horn. 

Such  were  the  dreams  of  Burr.  He  proceeded  at  once  to  realize 
them.  He  sounded  men  in  high  station,  and  from  many  met 
encouragement.  Officers  of  rank  eagerly  embraced  the  enterprise  ; 
politicians  of  commanding  influence  united  themselves  to  his  party 
The  adventure  dazzled  young  and  ardent  temperaments.  Hundreds 


AARON    BURR.  483 

held  themselves  in  readiness  to  join  the  expedition  as  soon  as  war 
should  be  declared,  and  funds  were  secretly  provided  in  our  eastern 
cities  to  forward  this  romantic  enterprise.  In  the  private  papers  of 
some  of  our  most  distinguished  families,  rests  ample  evidence  of  the 
magnitude  and  brilliancy  of  this  plot. 

It  was  at  this  period  that  Burr  met  Blennarhassett,  an  Irish  gen- 
tleman of  fortune,  who  had  purchased  and  settled  on  an  island  in 
the  Ohio  river.  This  little  spot  bloomed,  under  his  culture,  like  the 
enchanted  gardens  of  the  Hesperides.  Here,  surrounded  by  a  lovely 
wife  and  family,  he  had  passed  several  years,  dividing  his  time 
between  literature  and  domestic  ease.  But  the  fascination  of  Burr 
soon  transmuted  the  character  of  his  host,  until  the  hitherto  quiet 
student  was  fired  with  dreams  of  immortal  glory.  His  mansion 
soon  became  the  rendezvous  of  the  bold  spirits  whom  Burr  had 
enlisted  in  his  enterprise ;  and  the  magic  of  music,  united  to  the 
charms  of  lovely  women,  threw  a  romantic  fascination  around  the 
spot.  The  coolest  minds  could  not  withstand  the  intoxication  of 
that  moment.  Amid  the  pauses  of  the  dance,  the  enthusiastic  ad- 
venturers talked  of  the  banners,  embroidered  by  fair  hands,  under 
which  they  were  to  march  to  conquest ;  while  the  softer  sex  dis- 
cussed, half  jestingly,  half  earnestly,  the  gay  dresses  they  were  to 
rustle  at  their  future  court.  But  to  this  bewildering  dream  there 
came  a  sudden  awakening.  An  arrangement  had  been  made  with 
Spain,  and  the  government,  apprized  of  the  enterprise  of  Burr,  sent 
its  emissaries  to  arrest  him.  He  fled,  and  with  him,  Blennerhassett. 
From  that  hour  the  fairy  island  became  a  desert.  Desolation  soon 
brooded  over  the  hearth-stone  which  the  wife  and  mother  had  cheered 
with  her  smiles.  A  few  months  elapsed,  and  the  traveller  passing 
that  island,  heard  the  long  grass  whistling  in  the  ruins,  and  saw  the 
wild  fox  look  forth  from  his  hole  unscared. 

Burr  did  not,  however,  abandon  his  darling  scheme.  Deserted  by 
nine-tenths  of  his  adherents,  he  still  refused  to  despair,  but  collecting 
a  small  body  of  men  began  to  descend  the  Ohio.  He  had  purchased 
a  tract  of  land  in  Louisiana,  where  he  resolved  to  form  a  settlement 
which,  in  time,  might  become  a  depot  from  which  to  direct  an  attack 
on  Mexico,  if  a  favorable  opportunity  should  occur.  But,  as  he 
proceeded,  the  country  began  to  be  alarmed.  Rumors  were  in  cir- 
culation that  he  intended  to  dismember  the  Union  by  separating  the 
south-western  states  from  the  rest  of  the  confederacy.  At  length 
his  progress  was  stopped  by  the  authorities.  He  was  arrested  on  a 
charge  of  high  treason,  and  sent  to  Virginia  for  trial,  under  the 
escort  of  a  party  of  dragoons. 


484  THE    HEROES    OP    THE    REVOLUTION. 

The  history  of  this  country  affords  no  parallel  to  the  extraordinary 
reverses  of  fortune  which  had  befallen  Burr  ;  and  the  mind  can  dis- 
cover nothing  to  which  to  liken  it,  except  in  the  events  of  eastern 
story,  where,  by  the  same  turn  of  the  wheel,  the  camel-driver  rises 
to  a  monarch,  and  the  sultan  sinks  to  a  slave.  But  a  few  years 
before,  he  had  been  the  popular  idol,  and  filling  the  second  office  of 
the  nation,  living  with  the  splendor  and  munificence  of  a  prince : 
now  the  meanest  thief  who  dodged  the  officers  of  justice  in  some 
low  alley,  would  not  have  bartered  situations  with  him.  His  adhe- 
rents were  scattered  to  all  quarters.  Every  man  thought  only  of 
saving  himself.  It  was  believed  that  he  would  be  convicted,  guilty 
or  not  guilty :  and,  as  in  all  popular  tumults,  pretended  informers 
were  not  wanting.  The  public  did  not  stop  to  enquire  into  his  real 
purposes.  One  universal  voice  of  reprobation  rose  up  from  east  to 
west,  from  north  to  south,  crying  out  for  the  blood  of  the  traitor  who 
had  ventured  to  plot  the  dismemberment  of  his  country.  His  few 
remaining  friends  bent  before  the  fury  of  the  storm.  Even  his  son- 
in-law,  Governor  Alston,  of  South  Carolina,  shrank  from  his  side  in 
this  crisis.  One  individual  alone  clung  to  him  in  this  hour  of  trial : 
need  we  say  it  was  a  woman,  the  only  daughter  of  the  accused  ? 

If  there  is  a  redeeming  feature  in  the  character  of  Burr,  it  is  to  be 
found  in  his  love  for  that  child.  Prom  her  earliest  years,  he  had 
educated  her  with  a  care  to  which  we  look  in  vain  for  a  parallel 
among  his  cotemporaries.  She  grew  up,  in  consequence,  no  ordi- 
nary woman.  Beautiful  beyond  most  of  her  sex,  accomplished  as 
few  females  at  that  day  were  accomplished,  displaying  to  her  family 
and  friends  a  fervor  of  affection  which  not  even  every  woman  is 
capable  of,  the  character  of  Theodosia  Burr  has  long  been  regarded 
almost  as  we  would  regard  that  of  a  heroine  of  chivalry.  Her  love  for 
her  father  partook  of  the  purity  of  a  better  world :  holy,  deep,  un- 
changing, it  reminds  us  of  the  affection  which  a  celestial  spirit  might 
be  supposed  to  entertain  for  a  parent,  cast  down  from  heaven  for 
sharing  in  the  sin  of  the  "  Son  of  the  Morning."  No  sooner  did  she 
hear  of  her  father's  arrest  than  she  flew  to  his  side.  There  is  nothing 
in  human  history  more  touching  than  the  hurried  letters,  blotted 
with  tears,  in  which  she  announced  "her  daily  progress  to  Richmond, 
for  she  was  too  weak  to  travel  with  the  rapidity  of  the  mail ;  and 
even  the  character  of  Burr  borrows  a  momentary  halo  from  hers 
when  we  peruse  his  replies,  in  which,  forgetting  his  peril,  and  relax- 
ing the  stern  front  he  assumed  towards  his  enemies,  he  labors  only 
to  quiet  her  fears  and  inspire  her  with  confidence  in  his  acquittal. 
He  even  writes  from  his  prison  in  a  tone  of  gaiety,  jestingly  regret- 


AARON  BURR.  485 

ting  that  his  accommodations  for  her  reception  are  not  more  elegant. 
Once,  and  once  only,  does  he  melt ;  and  then  it  is  to  tell  her,  that, 
in  the  event  of  the  worst,  he  will  die  worthy  of  himself. 

The  trial  of  Burr  was  an  event  that  struck  every  imaginative 
rnind.  The  prisoner  had  been  the  Vice-President  of  the  nation. 
His  crime  was  the  most  flagrant  known  to  the  law.  His  country 
was  the  accuser.  He  was  arraigned  before  the  supreme  tribunal  of 
the  nation,  and  the  Judge  who  presided  was  the  highest  dignitary 
of  that  high  court.  The  magnitude  of  the  charges,  the  number  of 
persons  involved  in  the  plot,  the  former  high  standing  and  extraordi- 
nary fortunes  of  the  accused,  all  these  combined  had  fastened  the 
attention  of  the  community  on  his  trial :  and,  as  it  progressed,  the 
nation  stood  gazing  on  in  breathless  suspense.  Never  before  or 
since  has  this  country  witnessed  such  an  array  of  talent  in  any  pub- 
lic cause.  There  was  the  Chief  Justice,  learned,  dignified,  incor- 
ruptible. There  was  Wirt,  brilliant  and  showy,  but  less  known  to 
fame  then,  than  he  was  destined  afterwards  to  become.  There  was 
Martin,  quick,  keen,  armed  at  all  points.  There  were  Hay,  Ran- 
dolph, and  a  host  of  others,  renowned  for  legal  acumen  and  forensic 
skill.  And  there,  too,  was  the  accused,  pre-eminent  amid  that  bright 
array,  inferior  to  none  in  intellect,  superior  to  all  in  the  magnitude 
of  his  resources.  Never,  indeed,  did  the  vast  ability  of  Burr  shine 
with  more  resplendent  lustre.  He  felt  the  full  peril  of  his  situation. 
The  stake  was  life  or  death.  He  was  arraigned  by  a  powerful  foe  : 
the  executive  itself  was  secretly  busy  against  him :  the  jury  regarded 
him  with  prejudice.  Yet  he  stood  up  against  this  combination  of 
dangers  cool,  ready,  stout  of  heart.  He  fought  every  inch  of  ground 
with  a  skill  and  perseverance  which  resulted  in  the  total  rout  of  his 
foes.  Without  adducing  a  witness  for  the  defence,  he  suffered  his 
case  to  go  to  the  jury,  who  acquitted  him  at  once. 

But  his  country  still  refused  to  believe  him  innocent.  Though 
stout  old  Truxton  had  testified  in  his  favor,  though  Jackson  had 
seen  nothing  wrong  in  Burr's  project,  but  agreed  to  favor  it,  the 
popular  voice  continued  to  regard  him  as  a  traitor,  whom  accident 
alone  had  prevented  from  dismembering  the  Union.  But  that  a 
man  of  sense  and  ability  should  entertain  such  a  notion,  relying  for 
aid  on  associates  whom  he  knew  would  countenance  no  treason,  is 
a  preposterous  and  insane  supposition.  As  he  said  on  his  death-bed, 
he  might  as  well  have  attempted  to  seize  the  moon  and  parcel  it  out 
among  his  followers. 

The  real  secret  of  the  popular  belief  is  to  be  found  in  the  charac- 
ter of  Burr.  In  him  the  elements  which  make  great  and  good  men 

QQ* 


486  THE  HEROES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 

were  strangely  mixed  up  with  those  in  which  we  may  suppose  the 
spirits  of  evil  to  pride  themselves.  He  was  brave,  affable,  munificent, 
of  indomitable  energy,  of  signal  perseverance.  In  his  own  person 
he  combined  two  opposite  natures.  He  was  studious  but  insinua- 
ting, dignified  yet  seductive.  Success  did  not  intoxicate,  nor  reverses 
dismay  him.  Turning  to  the  other  aspect  of  his  character,  these 
great  qualities  sank  into  insignificance  beside  his  evil  ones.  He  was 
a  profligate  in  morals,  public  and  private.  He  was  selfish,  he  was 
artful,  a  master  in  dissimulation,  treacherous,  cold-hearted.  What 
Sallust  said  of  Catiline  might,  with  equal  propriety,  be  said  of  him  : 
"  cupidus  voluptatum  glorias  cupidior."  Subtle,  intriguing,  full  of 
promises,  unsparing  of  means,  regardless  of  consequences,  he  shot 
upwards  in  popularity  with  astonishing  velocity ;  but,  a  skeptic  in 
honesty,  a  scorner  of  all  things  noble  and  good,  he  failed  to  secure 
the  public  confidence,  and  fell  headlong  from  his  dizzy  eminence. 
Here  lies  the  secret  of  his  ruin  !  There  was  nothing  in  his  character 
to  which  the  great  heart  of  the  people  could  attach  itself  in  love ; 
but  they  shrank  from  him  in  mistrust,  as  from  a  cold  and  glittering 
serpent. 

After  his  trial  Burr  went  abroad  virtually  a  banished  man.  He 
was  still  full  of  his  scheme  against  the  Spanish  provinces ;  but  in 
England  he  met  no  encouragement,  that  nation  being  engaged  in 
the  Peninsular  war.  He  afterwards  visited  France,  where  his  peti- 
tions were  equally  disregarded,  the  Emperor  being  engrossed  in  the 
continental  wars.  In  Paris  his  funds  failed.  He  became  miserably 
poor.  He  had  no  friends  to  whom  to  apply,  but  was  forced  to  bor- 
row, on  one  occasion,  a  couple  of  sous  from  a  cigar  woman  at  a 
corner  of  the  street. 

At  last  he  returned  to  New  York,  but  in  how  different  a  guise 
from  the  days  of  his  glory.  No  cannon  thundered  at  his  coming, 
no  crowds  thronged  along  the  quay.  Men  gazed  suspiciously  on 
him  as  he  walked  along,  or  crossed  the  street  to  avoid  him  like  one 
having  the  pestilence.  But  he  was  not,  he  thought,  wholly  desolate. 
His  daughter  still  lived ;  his  heart  yearned  to  clasp  her  again  to  his 
bosom.  She  left  Charleston  accordingly  to  meet  him.  But  though 
more  than  thirty  years  have  since  elapsed,  no  tidings  of  the  pilot- 
boat  in  which  she  sailed  have  ever  been  received.  Weeks  grew 
into  months,  and  months  glided  into  years ;  yet  her  father  and  hus- 
band watched  in  vain  for  her  coming.  Whether  the  vessel  perished 
by  conflagration,  whether  it  foundered  in  a  gale,  or  whether  it  was 
taken  by  pirates,  and  all  on  board  murdered,  will  never  be  known 
until  that  great  day  when  the  deep  shall  give  up  its  dead. 


AARON    BURR. 


4S7 


It  is  said  this  last  blow  broke  the  heart  of  Burr,  and  that,  though 
in  public  he  maintained  a  proud  equanimity,  in  private  tears  would 
force  themselves  down  his  furrowed  cheeks.  He  lived  thirty  years 
after  this  event,  but,  in  his  own  words,  felt  severed  from  the  human 
race.  He  had  neither  brother,  nor  sister,  nor  child,  nor  lineal  de- 
scendant. No  man  called  him  by  the  endearing  title  of  friend.  The 
weight  of  fourscore  years  was  on  his  brow.  He  was  racked  by 
disease.  At  last  death,  so  long  desired,  came,  but  it  found  him,  it  is 
said,  in  a  miserable  lodging,  and  alone.  Was  there  ever  such  a 
retribution  ? 

In  the  burial  place  of  Princeton  College  are  three  graves.  Two, 
side  by  side,  are  surmounted  by  marble  tablets,  recording  the  virtues 
of  those  who  sleep  below,  and  who  died  Presidents  of  that  august 
institution.  They  are  the  tombs  of  the  father  and  grandfather  of 
Burr.  At  their  feet,  and  partially  between,  is  a  third  grave,  but 
without  headstone,  untrimmed,  and  sunken  in.  There  rests  Aaron 
Burr! 


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